


Think Of Anything

by Onyxim



Category: DCU (Animated), Justice League & Justice League Unlimited (Cartoons)
Genre: Announcements, Arguments, Couvade syndrome, Cravings, Drama, Feels, Fluff, Hormones, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Making Up, Mood Swings, Morning Sickness, Mpreg, Pregnancy, Pregnancy Tests, Romance, Sappy, Sympathy Pregnancy, Unplanned Pregnancy, batfamily, slight angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-05-29 05:17:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 27,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6361003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onyxim/pseuds/Onyxim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce's pregnancy, month by month.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Month One

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this fic sitting for a while. I originally planned on it being one giant chapter, but I changed my mind.

"Bruce. . .are you okay?"

Batman ignored Diana's question and continued to organize the League files on his laptop. Diana sat next to him, watching the local news on the television perched on the wall across the room. They were the only ones in the Watchtower cafeteria. He could feel her stare of concern, which ultimately ended up making him uncomfortable and he relented.

"Yes, I'm fine."

"Because you're a bit pale. More so than usual." There was a teasing tone in her voice as she continued to talk, ignoring Bruce's subtle dismissal.

He didn't reply. Truth was, and he hated to admit it, but he was nauseous and lightheaded and all he wanted to do was curl up in bed with Clark and go to sleep. He brushed it off as overworking himself. He hadn't had any sleep for two days.

Diana frowned at him. "Seriously, Bruce. Are you sure you're fine?"

While he was used to Wonder Woman's consistent game of 21 Questions (he blamed it on her curiosity), Batman wanted to snap at her. He usually felt only a mild annoyance at her insistent questions, but today, he felt cranky and he really didn't want to be bothered.

"Yes," he bit out. "I'm fine."

Diana, thank God, finally took a hint and backed off, turning back to the TV. But he knew she was watching him in the reflection of its black screen when she turned it off a few minutes later.

* * *

  
Bruce climbed into bed at about eight in the evening that night, pulling the covers up to his chin.  Clark was next to him, on his side of the bed, back against the headboard with his laptop in his lap. His fingers poised over the keyboard, he glanced down at Bruce, who had already closed his eyes.

"It's a bit early, don't you think?" Clark asked, amused. "It's only eight."

"''M tired," Bruce mumbled into his pillow. He snuggled closer to Clark's hips. In turn, the other man carded his fingers through thick black hair, and Bruce hummed in contentment. Clark decided it wouldn't be that hard to type with just one hand.

* * *

  
Over the course of a few days, Bruce noticed something was amiss. He wasn't sure what it was. Maybe it was sudden onslaught of fatigue, maybe it was this unusual feeling of sluggishness, but something was definitely wrong.

Bruce pondered this as he took a few sips of coffee, enjoying the silence of everyone in the house still asleep. He had a meeting at the Wayne Tower in about an hour.  And despite the coffee, which he'd had three cups off, he was still exhausted.

Bruce just hoped he would find out what it was. And soon.


	2. Month Two

Bruce shook and gripped the toilet through gloved fingers as he vomited for the second time that day.

This was getting ridiculous.

First earlier that morning at work, now on the Watchtower. It happened yesterday morning and the morning before that. If Clark noticed at all, he hadn't said anything.

He gagged again.

About ten minutes ago, the nausea was more intense than it had been before, so he had headed to to men's restroom to try and splash some water on his face and regain his senses. He'd pulled off his cowl because he thought the more exposure to cool air, the better, but it didn't help much.

Bruce had turned on the faucet, watched the running water for a few seconds, and then his stomach decided to flip upside down and he turned on his heel and rushed into one of the stalls. He barley made it in time, collapsing to his knees and retching.

Now, he sat back against the red wall of the bathroom stall, panting. He wiped the involuntary tears out of his eyes and reached over flushed the toilet. He felt hot and uncomfortable in the Batsuit and wanted nothing more than to teleport home and collapse into bed.

But the members of the League had a meeting in two minutes.

Bruce forced himself to stand up and debated whether or not he had the time to get some coffee to wake himself up and get the God-awful taste out of his mouth.

* * *

 

"Can't we just start already?" Wally complained, leaning his chin on his palm and tapping his toe on the floor at superspeed.

"We have to wait until all of the members are here," Diana said sternly.

"It's only fair," Clark interjected, but he was genuinely concerned for Bruce, who was never, _ever_ late for a League meeting.

"But Bats is, like, fifteen minutes late," he whined, leaning back in his chair. "Besides, he would have started the meeting if _I_ were gone. He's just as impatient as I am."

No one disagreed.

Diana sighed. "Fine, but--"

The doors to the large room opened smoothly, and Batman walked right in, holding a cup of coffee.

Wally clamped his mouth shut like he hadn't said anything.

Only Clark and Diana noticed Batman's pale pallor, the way his shoulders were slumped a bit and the no-nonsense look he had on his face.

Wally made a face. "You were late for _coffee?"_

Batman all but _growled_ at him as he took his seat next to Shayera, who visibly stiffened when she could quite literally feel the annoyance rolling off of him in waves.

Diana surveyed the room and decided that the silence was enough to get on with the meeting. A holographic screen appeared in the center of the table and she began.

Only slightly tuning out Diana's talking, Clark glanced over at Bruce, who's rapt attention was all on Diana's presentation and probably trying to ignore Clark's look. Something seemed off about Bruce, though. Maybe it was his accelerated heartbeat--

Wait.

_Heartbeats?_

There were two--no, _three_ heartbeats coming from Bruce.

He was almost afraid to use his x-ray vision. He didn't. Just turned to his attention back to Diana, but his thoughts were still swirling about his head. He hoped that his face revealed nothing, although he couldn't tune out the loud, overpowering sound of the three heartbeats coming from his boyfriend.

_Could Bruce actually be. . .?_

* * *

 

"I heard the heartbeats, Bruce," Clark said for the millionth time.

Bruce just stared at the brown bag in his hand. It had approximately six pregnancy tests in it.

"I heard them," Clark said again, more to himself more than anything.

Bruce just stared at the bag. He looked up at Clark, who was looking at him back, silently pleading.

"If you heard them, why do I need to take the tests?" he finally asked.

"I need to be sure," was all Clark said in reply.

Bruce blinked at him.

"Please."

A few moments passed. Bruce stared at Clark with mixed emotions. Surprise, confusion, dread. . .if Clark had heard the heartbeats, then it was a definite answer. There was no other explanation. Something about that made Bruce uneasy.

It couldn't hurt to check. . .right?

Bruce inhaled, exhaled, and retreated into he and Clark's shared bathroom.

* * *

 

Bruce and Clark sat on the bed side by side about two minutes later.

"You look."

 _"You're_ the one who heard the heartbeats," Bruce grumbled. "You look first."

"We can both look. On three, okay?" Clark took hold of the object in Bruce's hand and they held it together.

Bruce wanted to roll his eyes, but he complied. "Fine. One. . ."

"Two. . ."

"Three."

They both flipped it over.

Clark's breath caught in his throat and Bruce stopped breathing completely.

Positive.

They sat there for three minutes, just staring.

_Positive._

Bruce finally stammered, "I'm. . .I-I'm. . .p. . . .preg. . ." The room swam and his lungs stopped working as the realization hit him.

_This cannot be happening. This wasn't planned. Not planned. I can't do this. Oh, God, I can't raise children--_

He held onto Clark's shoulders, who was stiff and unresponsive for a bit until he caught Bruce's short, hyperventilating breaths. Clark grabbed hold of him. "Bruce. Bruce! You need to breathe. Come on, breathe with me."

"I'm. . .I. . .ungh. . ." Bruce's eyes rolled up into his head and he went limp.

* * *

 

"How, Clark? How?" Bruce paced the room, grabbing at his hair. Clark sat on the bed, staring at his feet.

"I don't--"

"Shut up. I don't understand. Weren't we careful? I'm pretty sure we were. I was there."

"Bruce--"

"Shut up. How could this happen? Were the condoms defective? What? What the hell happened?"

"I--"

"Shut up. Were they not big enough?"--Clark blushed at that--"Do I need to march my ass down to that company and complain? Do I need to write a fucking letter?"

"Bruce--"

"Shut--"

"You keep telling me to shut up, but you're asking me the questions," Clark blurted, exasperated.

Bruce stopped. He seemingly got ahold of himself and sighed, running a trembling hand down the side of his face. "You're right. Sorry," he mumbled, sitting down on the bed next to Clark.

Clark said nothing--smart--and just pulled him closer.

It was silent for a few minutes.

* * *

 

It dawned on Bruce two days later as he woke up:

He'd have to tell the boys.

He almost panicked. How would he tell his sons he was pregnant? There was no possible way. He was really awkward about telling them personal stuff. Hell, it took him six months to tell them about Clark. He was sure he'd mess it up in some way.

Bruce stiffly got out of bed, careful not to disturb Clark, and slipped into his robe. He quietly exited the bedroom and started to make his way down to the kitchen.

The first things he heard was Jason and Dick quietly talking. The sounds of Alfred mingling about the kitchen was the second, the smell of breakfast filling the hallway. He smiled a little to himself.

He reached the kitchen doorway and it took all of his power not to gag. The smell of frying bacon was _unbearable_ this close. He grimaced.

Dick noticed him first, waving to him. "Good morning, Bruce!" he chirped (only Dick would chirp this early in the morning). Jason waved once and Tim acknowledged him with a short nod, eyes glued to a newspaper.

Bruce only nodded, suddenly rethinking his choice to come downstairs.

At the stove, Alfred removed a few strips of bacon from the skillet and put them on a plate, then made his way over to the table Jason, Dick, and Tim were sitting at. Bruce got a faceful of the smell and squeezed his eyes shut, willing the nausea to go away.

"Breakfast today, Master Bruce?" Alfred asked, returning to the stove and scooping a spatula under sunny-side-up eggs.

Bruce could no longer bear the runny yolk of the eggs or the greasy smell of bacon and slapped a hand over his mouth, turning abruptly and running down the hallway to the nearest bathroom.

The boys watched him confusedly.

"Your cooking's not *that* bad, Alfred," Dick commented.

"Pardon me, but I fail to see how my cooking has anything to do with it," Alfred said curtly.

Dick chuckled sheepishly. "Right, sorry."

"He did look a little green when he walked in here," Tim said, sipping at his coffee, not once looking up from the newspaper.

"He's been doing that all week," Jason murmured. "He thinks no one's noticed." His eyes narrowed with thought.

Dick frowned a bit at the news. "I wonder what's wrong with him?"

In the bathroom, Bruce's stomach heaved one more time before he was finally able to pry himself from the toilet bowl and leaned back against the wall, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He let himself rest a minute before he leaned forward and flushed the toilet and got up.

He would _never_ get used to this.

Out of habit, he paused to listen, hoping that Clark wasn't coincidentally just now waking up to come downstairs and would so happen to notice that Bruce had been puking his guts out for the last four days. Alas, there was no sound but his soft pants and the sounds from the kitchen. Bruce turned on the water and ducked his head down to drink straight from the faucet. Alfred would have his head if he found out.

After a few sips Bruce gradually felt better, but he decided to skip breakfast.

* * *

 

_Not again. . ._

And, for the _sixth goddamn time that week_ , Bruce launched out of bed at six in the morning, flinging open the door to he and Clark's bathroom, flipping the light on and collapsing onto his knees in front of the toilet.

He knew his commotion had awoken Clark (who was actually a pretty heavy sleeper). He wasn't surprised when he heard Clark's sleep-heavy steps over the sound of this his own retching and felt a tentative hand on his back when he winced at the cramping in his abdominal muscles.

Clark's hand was warm against his shoulder blades as he rubbed in a circle, his silence telling Bruce that Clark knew he didn't want any comforting words. He didn't need them, because Clark's presence alone was enough to make him feel better, although he'd never admit it out loud.

Bruce finally gave one last painful, dry cough into the bowl and lifted his head, flushing as he came back up and falling backwards into Clark's chest.

Clark kissed him on the cheek. "You want to rinse out your mouth?" he asked, but his voice was still heavily layered with tiredness. Bruce hummed and nodded. He loved when his voice was all husky with sleep like that.

They both stood up and Clark headed back into the bed while Bruce rinsed out his mouth with Listerine. When he returned to the bed, Clark had already fallen asleep, his soft breaths barely audible.

Bruce smiled again as he slipped under the covers. He leaned over to kiss Clark's forehead. Clark's arms came around him immediately after the contact, which Bruce accepted easily. He was a bit surprised. It wasn't usual for him to melt into Clark's embrace without hesitation.

Clark must've caught a whiff of Bruce's breath in his sleep, because he mumbled, "Mm, minty."

Bruce laughed.


	3. Month Three

"My chest hurts," Bruce complained, setting his book down on his lap and leaning back against the headboard.

"Heartburn already?" Clark asked. He had been reading up on pregnancy symptoms (not out of fascination, but out of pure concern so he'd be there to comfort Bruce when some of the symptoms appeared).

"No, it's. . ." Bruce stopped. "It's, uh, external," he finished lamely, turning away and trying to hide his blush.

Clark grinned at him. "Bruce. . ."

"Don't say it. Please don't say it."

"I think this is what the book described as. . ."

"Clark, I swear."

"'Breast tenderness'."

Bruce put his face in his hands and groaned.

Clark chuckled, moved his laptop from his lap, and leaned over to kiss Bruce's neck. "You want me to make it better?" He shifted closer. "Hmm?"

Bruce whined, trying to push his head away. "Stop. You ruined it."

"How so?" Strong hands squeezed his hips.

"My breasts are _not_ tender."

A pause.

"Wait, wait, no, that came out wrong."

Clark just laughed and lifted his head to connect his lips with Bruce's. "Aw, but come on." He ran his thumbs lightly over the skin on Bruce's hips, kissing the side of his mouth and nipping his way downward, down to his collarbone. "I know you want to."

Bruce all but melted, grabbing Clark's hair and kissing him roughly. "We have to be quiet," he murmured.

"Is Dick staying in the room next to ours again?" Clark said, tugging at Bruce's nightshirt.

"Mm-hmm. Last time he heard us." Bruce wrapped his arms around his shoulders as Clark removed Bruce's shirt and paid special attention to his chest, the bastard. Nonetheless, Bruce arched into the light scrape of teeth against his nipples. A hand snaked down and grabbed his cock through his boxers and Bruce groaned.

"I wonder why?" Clark smiled innocently.

In the end, Clark and Bruce received a noise complaint text from Dick the next morning.

* * *

 

"I scheduled an ultrasound appointment, Bruce."

Bruce froze. "And you didn't ask?" He turned and raised an eyebrow.

Clark smiled knowingly. "Actually, I was afraid you'd say 'no.'"

Bruce winced. "It's not that I *don't* want one. . ." he began hesitantly. "I'm just. . ."

Clark, the bastard, finished his sentence for him. "Scared?"

It was too true to try and deny, so Bruce just nodded, eyes going to the floor.

Clark embraced him then, wrapping him in a bear hug and kissing his forehead.

"Don't worry, Bruce. . .I'm scared too."

* * *

 

"Are you sure you're okay?" Clark asked for the umpteenth time.

"I'm fine!" Bruce snapped at him as Clark closed the door behind them. "I am perfectly fine!"

Clark frowned at him. Bruce ignored him and got settled on the cot. Clark sat in the chair placed next to it.

"You all but blew up at that doctor out there," Clark said.

"She kept _touching_ me!"

"She was trying to check your blood pressure."

"I _told_ her what it was! I check it every day!" Bruce grumbled. He glanced down. "Should I raise my shirt up?"

"It _is_ an ultrasound." Clark raised it up for him and smiled. "Aww, you've got a little tummy going there, Bruce." He put his hand against his belly and rubbed.

"Oh, shut up," Bruce said, but his smile was pleased, because Clark's hand was _warm_.

Clark laughed at him, loud and deep, and Bruce's heart fluttered.

There was the sound of heels clicking against tile floor outside the room. Clark quickly took his hand away, blushing.

"Bruce, it's been a while!" Leslie Thompkins exclaimed in her soft voice as she walked into the room. She beamed at him. "Too long, apparently. . ." She glanced down at Bruce's stomach, where his shirt had been lifted. She smirked. "You haven't been avoiding me, have you?"

Bruce let out a soft chuckle. "I enjoy visiting you, Leslie."

"Well, it usually ends up being because of a _bad_ thing," she said absentmindedly as she fluttered about the room, gathering things such as a clipboard and things she'd need for the ultrasound. "Like when Alfred has to call me down to the cave because you've been shot." She paused. _"Again."_

Leslie pulled on some elastic gloves and got her equipment ready. Clark watched her amusedly from his place beside Bruce's cot. Leslie's hands were small and dainty, but moved with practiced and precise movements over the machinery. It was interesting to watch her work.

The machine flipped on and Leslie spread some gel on her fingers. "This may be a little cold."

Bruce nodded and she spread the gel on his stomach. He flinched and shivered. Leslie smirked at him again. "Told you."

She removed her gloves, replaced them with a pair of clean ones, and grabbed the transducer wand. "Ready?"

Bruce's heart was thudding loudly. He was sure Clark could hear it without using his superhearing. Clark sensed his discomfort and slid his hand into Bruce's and squeezed. Bruce took a deep breath and nodded silently.

Leslie put the transducer wand to Bruce's stomach and looked at the screen. When nothing came up but a grainy white image, she shifted her arm a bit. Finally, two forms appeared on the screen, and Leslie voiced her victory with a soft, "Aha!"

Clark gave a gasp of awe and Bruce went completely still.

"Baby number one. . ." Leslie pointed at the blob on the left, "and baby number two." Her finger went to the figure on the right. She glanced at the entranced couple. "Would you like to hear the heartbeats?"

Both nodded dazedly.

Leslie flipped a switch on the machine and turned a knob until the pounding sound of Bruce and Clark's children throbbed throughout the room.

Bruce snaked his fingers through Clark's and squeezed for dear life. Clark looked away from the screen, prepared to smile at him, but he stopped when he realized that Bruce's gesture was purely out of fear. His eyes were wide and unseeing, his face had gone pale, his mouth a perfect "o". He hand was shaking.

Leslie either didn't notice or was purposely avoiding looking at the pair.

Clark held Bruce tight when his eyes filled with tears. Stroked his arm lovingly when he felt Bruce's warm tears land on his shirt.

The sound of the twin heartbeats, in perfect sync, was the only sound in the room.

* * *

 

_Clark: sent at 5:45 p.m.: **We still have to tell them.**_

Bruce snuck a glance at his phone under the table. Looking around to see if anyone was watching, he quickly typed, **_In a board meeting. We can talk later_** , and sent the message.

Today was one of his bad days. He was nauseous, dizzy, and tired all at the same time and he had about forty minutes left of the meeting to endure. He prayed he wouldn't barf all over the table before then.

His phone buzzed with a text. He glanced at its screen. Clark had replied, _**Okay. I'll pick you up from work.**_

Bruce inwardly sighed.

"Mr. Wayne, it'd be wonderful if you could actually join our discussion."

Bruce's head snapped up, meeting the eyes of Mr. Fox, who had been watching him intently. He raised an eyebrow at him.

Bruce gave the other members (who seemed none too happy at the interruption) a small smile. "My apologies. Continue."

Mr. Fox looked skeptical, but continued, answering the question of a brown-haired woman to his left.

Bruce listened for a few minutes, but gradually began to fade out of the conversation. He fought to keep his eyes open and stifled a yawn.

His eyes slipped closed, and the next time they opened, the people that had previously been sitting at the large conference table were getting up and leaving (sending Bruce disapproving glances) and Bruce had drool on his chin.

Hurriedly, he swiped it away, and someone tapped his shoulder.

"Are you sure you're okay, Bruce?" Mr. Fox asked, hand still on his shoulder.

_I'm really getting tired of people asking me that._

"Why do you ask?" Bruce replied instead, fighting the urge to stretch. He had fallen asleep sitting up and his neck felt stiff.

"You've been in and out of sleep the entire meeting. You're never one to be so tired."

 _You'd be surprised,_ Bruce thought.

"I'm just. . .not feeling too well," Bruce admitted, albeit hesitantly, remembering his previous nausea. He rubbed his eyes and stood up, his knees giving out a little. "I should get back to my office, I've still got work to do."

Nodding, Mr. Fox watched Bruce exit the room, a little hurriedly. His eyes narrowed.

In the privacy of his office Bruce leaned back in his comfortable chair and sighed. He almost wanted to go to sleep again, but what he had said was true, he had unfinished work.

He plugged in his laptop.

* * *

 

About an hour later, he was still typing when the words on the screen got a bit blurry.

Bruce blinked and rubbed at his eyes and tried to focus on the screen again, but this time, the whole room began swirling. He stood up and nearly collapsed back into the chair. Dizziness overcame him, black lined the edges of his vision and he fell to the floor with a grunt. He landed on the laptop's charger cord, making the laptop clatter to the floor with him.

The secretary outside of the room heard the commotion and looked towards the door. She glanced around, seeing that no one had noticed. Reluctantly, she got up from her desk and headed to the door.

"Mr. Wayne?" she called through the thick wood.

No answer.

Her heart thudded. She knew from previous experiences that her boss had either been kidnapped again or worse.

She pushed the double doors open and gasped.

"Mr. Wayne!"

* * *

 

Bruce cracked his eyes open to Dick's concerned face. He sat up as quickly as possible, Dick dodging out of the way just in time.

"Where--?" he began, frowning. Why were they in the Batcave? And why did his head hurt so much?

"Well, it's pretty obvious now," Dick said when a look of familiarity crossed Bruce's face.

"How?"

"It took some lying. Your secretary was freaking out because you had collapsed and I had to tell her I was taking you to a hospital."

Bruce just nodded and held a hand to his head and felt bandaging. He winced. "What. . .?"

"You took a pretty hard fall," Dick explained shortly. His face was stony and his voice was a bit hesitant. He wasn't telling Bruce something.

Bruce frowned. "Dick. . ."

"What?"

Bruce narrowed his eyes in a way that said, "What are you hiding?"

Dick blinked twice in a row--Bruce knew he was nervous about something.

"I'm not hiding anything."

Bruce just glared at him. For a full minute. Without blinking.

Dick bristled. He finally gave up under Bruce's intense stare and sighed. "Okay, so. . .I figured something must have been wrong with you, because you've been throwing up and you fainted. So. . .I took a blood sample."

Bruce raised his eyebrows. He knew where this was going, and cringed internally.

Dick seemed as if the words were stuck right on his tongue. "Bruce. . .you're. . ." He stumbled a little, an _"I can't do this"_ look making its way into his eyes.

"I already know."

Dick stopped dead in his tracks, the resigned look on his face dropping immediately. "What?"

"I've known for a few weeks, Dick."

"How come you didn't tell us?"

Bruce had been waiting for that question. He grimaced.

Dick didn't look angry. . .not at all, which surprised Bruce. Dick usually got angry when he kept things from him. His expression was more hurt than anything else, and Bruce's heart sank a little.

"I. . .didn't know how," he said slowly. It was true. "I was going to tell you soon, but I'm still a little in shock myself."

Dick nodded in understanding, face relaxing a little. "What about Tim and Jason?"

Bruce almost asked Dick, "Could you tell them for me?" but immediately eliminated the thought. He couldn't ask that of his son, it was irresponsible, not to mention just plain stupid.

"In time. Maybe during dinner. God knows how Jason will react." Bruce couldn't help thinking about it, which made him all the more nervous than he was before.

Dick nodded again, his face unreadable, something he must have picked up from Bruce. "Alright."

They sat in silence for a while.

"Who else knows?" Dick asked softly.

"Clark, of course, and possibly J'onn. Alfred has probably already figured it out." He smiled a little.

Dick chuckled. "Do you think it's a boy or a girl?"

"It's probably a boy _and_ a girl," Bruce muttered, and then his eyes grew wide.

Dick's jaw dropped dramatically. "You're having _twins?!"_ he all but screeched, his voice echoing in the cave and scaring a few bats in the distance.

"Shh!" Bruce hissed. "Keep your voice down!"

Dick's eyes were suddenly alight. "I GET _TWO_ SIBLINGS?!" He gasped. "What if they're both girls?! What if they're both boys?!"

Bruce watched him with amusement. Dick looked about ready to explode into rainbow ribbons, he seemed so happy.

"What're you gonna name them?!" Dick's eyes were sparkling.

Bruce raised an eyebrow. "I actually haven't thought about that yet. . .but I'm only three months along, so I have ti--"

"ONLY _SIX MONTHS LEFT!"_ Dick exclaimed.

Bruce sighed.

* * *

 

Dick was practically buzzing at the dining room table.

"You're smiling more than usual, Dickie Bird," Jay commented, shoving a spoonful of pasta into his mouth.

Dick just laughed and sent a knowing look at Bruce and Clark. Bruce's eyes dropped down to his plate and Clark arched an eyebrow at him.

Jason followed Dick's eyes and frowned, suddenly realizing that Dick's (not entirely) unusual behavior had to do with Bruce and Clark. "What's going on with you two?"

Bruce glanced at him and gave him a shrug. "Nothing."

"'Nothing' my ass. Dick's acting weird for a reason." Jason looked at him expectantly.

Bruce looked frozen. His eyes went to Clark for help. Clark just gave him a "Hey, don't look at me", face.

Alfred came by with the pot of pasta in hand. "More, Master Bruce?"

"Yes, please," Bruce said, swiftly avoiding the question by holding up his plate, which was completely empty. This made Jason's eyebrows climb towards his hairline, because it was incredibly rare for Bruce to finish dinner, let alone ask for _more._

"I had expected as much," Alfred said, spooning the last of the pasta onto Bruce's plate. "After all, you _are_ eating for two."

Everyone in the dining room stopped moving.

Clark dropped his fork.

Jason's jaw all but hit the table, half chewed vegetables sitting in his mouth.

Tim choked on his tea, the liquid spraying all over the table cloth.

Bruce looked like a statue.

Dick watched everyone's reactions.

Alfred took in the scene before him. He broke the silence, "Master Jason, it would be greatly appreciated if you closed your mouth. It is extremely rude to the others that are eating." And with that, he left.

Tim finally sputtered, "You're. . .you're _pregnant?_ You're having a _baby?"_

Bruce  looked startled. "Actually. . .it's, uh, twins."

Jason's eyes were as wide as his plate. He turned his eyes to Clark in disbelief. "Is he really--?"

Clark's face was a deep shade of crimson. He stared at the table cloth, which had suddenly become interesting.

Jason nodded. "Okay. Okay, so. . ." He stopped. Blinking a few times, he stood up and left the table, his movements rigid and stiff as he left the dining room.

Tim said, "That was certainly. . .news." He gave a small smile. "But, congratulations to the both of you. I should probably go talk to Jason. . ." he trailed off as he left the table.

Dick stared after him. "Actually went a lot better than I thought it would have." He ate the last bite on his plate and stood up and exited as well.

Clark put his head in his hands. "Did you see the way Jason looked at me?" he groaned. "I think he hates me now."

"He'll be fine," Bruce said. "He just needs some time to think."

But, deep down, he was afraid Jason would look at him differently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M ACTUALLY PRETTY TERRIBLE WITH TIM AND JASON'S CHARACTERS SO I'M SORRY IF THEY'RE A BIT OOC BUT--


	4. Month Four

The next week was a bit awkward, if not quiet. Jason had been avoiding him, Tim was sneaking glances at Bruce's stomach, which had developed a small but noticeable bump, and Dick wasn't trying to hide his excitement at all.

When Bruce noticed the bump for the first time, while he was taking off his shirt, reality hit him hard. These babies were _here_. This was really happening.

His hand more frequently went to his stomach whenever he was sleeping, watching TV, or talking to someone. It was a semiconscious action, like when Clark would turn over in his sleep and caress Bruce's belly. It made his heart and stomach flutter.

The only problem was. . .

"I gained three pounds, Clark," Bruce pouted as he sat down at the kitchen table. He watched Clark help Alfred with the pancakes.

"That's completely normal, Bruce," Clark replied and poured batter into a pan.

"It's not normal when I'm still throwing up every morning," Bruce grumbled to himself, eyes trained on the pancakes that Alfred was flipping.

"Ah, Master Bruce, I found your mother's old recipe for anti-nausea shakes," Alfred said. "I'll make one with your breakfast this morning."

Bruce absentmindedly muttered a "Thanks," his stomach growling as he watched Clark lift a few pancakes onto a plate.

Clark chuckled. "I heard that."

"I can't help it. I'm _starving_. Can you put chocolate syrup on mine?"

Alfred turned and gave him a perplexed look.

"And strawberries. And whipped cream." Bruce's mouth was practically watering.

Clark and Alfred shared looks. Finally, Alfred sighed. "Though I don't appreciate the. . .sugary requests. . ." he began, "This _was_ bound to happen sooner or later. Master Clark, would you mind getting the Cool Whip and the Hershey syrup from the refrigerator?"

* * *

 

Clark walked into he and Bruce's shared bedroom and frowned. All the lights had been turned off, the windows were open to let the silvery rays of moonlight flood in and drape across the bed. The curtains blew softly in the wind.

The door slammed shut behind him.

"Have a good day at work today, Clark?" came Bruce's sultry voice.

Clark jumped about two feet in the air. "Jesus, Bruce!" He whirled around. "You--"

Bruce was only wearing one of Clark's flannel shirts, some black socks, and--holy _shit_ \--black lace panties. He was leaning on the door with his arms at his sides but his hands pressing against the door, finalizing its close. The baby bump was visible under the shirt. He flashed Clark a cheshire grin.

"--scared me."

Bruce all but waltzed up to Clark and pushed at his chest until his knees hit the back of the bed and Clark fell down onto the mattress. Bruce climbed over him, body moving smoothly like a wave, as he straddled him and pinned Clark's hands to the bed.

Bruce stared at him for a long minute, before running his eyes sensuously down Clark's body, and flicking them back up to meet his again. He leaned down and peppered kisses down Clark's neck, smirking against the skin when Clark shivered and fidgeted in Bruce's hold. Bruce began rocking his lace-clad ass against Clark's crotch.

Bruce moved to nip at Clark's earlobe and whispered huskily, _"I'm horny, Clark."_

Things escalated quickly after that.

* * *

  
Clark waved goodbye to Jimmy as they walked out of the Daily Planet together. Clark was reaching for his keys to his car when his phone vibrated.

_Bruce: sent at 3:48 p.m.: **The Oreo Mint Chip milkshake from Steak n' Shake.**_

Clark raised an eyebrow at his phone screen. _What an odd request. . ._ he thought amusedly.

He quickly tapped a response.

_Clark: sent at 3:49 p.m.: **I thought you hated mint. With a passion.**_

It was true. Bruce hated peppermint, spearmint, you name it. If it was mint, he didn't eat it. Clark found it odd that Bruce chose to use mint Listerine to wash his mouth.

But nowadays, Bruce was eating a lot of things he wouldn't normally eat. Candy, weird concoctions of chocolate, ice cream, and strawberry syrup, cake, a bacon and caramel donut at one point (don't ask). His preferred pregnancy food was milkshakes, most often the Cookie Dough flavor.

His phone buzzed. _Bruce: sent at 3:51 p.m.: **I don't recall.**_

Clark just smiled. _Clark: sent at 3:52 p.m.: **I'll stop by the Steak n' Shake and I'll be home in thirty minutes.**_

_Bruce: sent at 3:53 p.m.: **Okay. ;)**_

Clark knew that that emoticon meant.

It meant if Bruce got his milkshake, then he'd be rewarded. In depth.

He hurriedly hopped into his car.

* * *

 

Clark held Bruce's cold, minty milkshake in one hand and his jacket in the other. He nudged the halfway open bedroom door open with his shoulder, that seductive emoticon flashing through his mind when he saw that the lights were off.

Clark silently celebrated when Bruce slowly closed the door behind him.

Clark handed Bruce the Styrofoam cup, watched Bruce's eyes flash suggestively as he wrapped those perfect lips around the straw and took a large gulp.

He made a face and held the cup away from him like it were contaminated with some virus.

Clark's mood dropped suddenly. "What? What's wrong?"

Bruce gave him what could only be described as a pout. "I hate mint."

Clark wanted to bang his head on the nearest wall. "But--but--but I thought you said--"

"I _hate_ mint." Bruce's nose wrinkled and he shoved the cup into Clark's hands. "Here, throw that away, that is positively _disgusting."_

Clark stood there, dumbfounded, as Bruce left to wash his mouth with his mint Listerine.

* * *

 

Bruce hadn't been down in the cave in a week.

The familiar cold, biting air greeted him as he opened up the Grandfather clock entryway, and he gingerly made his way down the stairs, the fear of slipping and falling more prominent than it had ever been.

Before he knew about his pregnancy, Bruce still went on patrol, and he still went to to Watchtower regularly, whether it was for a meeting, to update the computer software, or go on a mission. He had no knowledge of the lives he carried inside of him.

But the following weeks after he and Clark first held the positive pregnancy test, the temptation to go out as Batman diminished a bit. He disappeared from the Justice League, making many members wonder. He was scared of putting his children's lives in jeopardy, but he still longed for the freedom of being Batman, to make Gotham a little more safer every day. He'd had Dick cover for him these past few weeks, but he needed to feel that way again. It was an addiction he couldn't leave behind.

It scared him more than his pregnancy did.

Bruce made it to the bottom of stairs and was filled with warmth. It was quiet besides the soft chatter of bats farther off into the darker depths of the cave.

Bruce made his way over to a large glass case, where the Batsuit was on display. It stood, large and looming, and somehow Bruce felt out of place in his current state.

One of the kids moved and kicked, and Bruce gasped abruptly, hand going to the spot. His heart pounded. A flurry of emotions clouded over in his brain.

He pressed his hand to the glass, the other resting on his stomach, his eyes tearing.

He'd had to make an important decision soon.

* * *

 

"Have they started kicking yet?" asked Diana, her hands delicately wrapped around a coffee mug.

She and Bruce sat in the living room. Diana was the only member of the league, along with Shayera and most likely J'onn (though he's kept silent) that knew about Bruce's maternal leave. Wally, Hal, and the junior leaguers were still in the dark.

"Yes, but not often," Bruce said, taking a sip of his water. "Maybe once a day if I'm lucky."

Diana got that curious look on her face, and Bruce already knew the question she was going to ask, and he gave the tiniest smile.

"Go ahead, but you're not going to feel anything."

Diana beamed and set down her coffee, and placed her hands gently over Bruce's rounded stomach.

They waited.

Bruce snorted. "See? I told you that you wouldn't feel any-- _whoo!"_ He jumped and winced.

Diana looked up at him with wide eyes, filled with both awe and concern. "Well, I felt _that."_

"It hurt." He frowned.

Diana gave him a sly grin. "I guess that's all a part of carrying half-Kryptonian children."

There was another kick to his ribcage and Bruce hissed. Diana gave him an "Are you okay?" look, which Bruce dismissed with a smile. "They must really like you. This is the most active they've been all week."

Diana's eyes shone. "Does that make me the honorary Godmother?"

Bruce chuckled. "Yes, I think it does."

A kick to his kidney and he knew his kids couldn't agree more.

* * *

 

"Jason, you're _sulking."_

"For the last time," Jason groaned, not even bothering to turn around and face Tim, "I am _not_ sulking. I'm just. . ."

"Pouting? Brooding? Moping?" Tim rattled off.

Jason did turn this time, but only to give Tim a deadly glare.

Tim's face was smug. Jason wanted to punch him. He needed to punch something and today Tim looked suddenly punchable.

"You've ignored and avoided Bruce for the past two weeks, Jason. Why are you so upset?" Tim's voice was calm, but had a hint of worry.

That was a good question. Why _was_ he upset? Something about this didn't sit well with him, but what could it be?

"Are you afraid?"

That had to be it. But what could he possibly be afraid of? _He_ wasn't the one carrying two children. _He_ wasn't the one who would have to be careful of everything he ate, or how he went down the stairs, or what physical activities he was able to do without harming his children.

Tim was sitting on the bed with him now.

"Jason."

"What."

"You never answered me."

"Maybe I _am_ afraid, okay?" he blurted out, suddenly frustrated. "Maybe I'm suddenly recalling all that shit we've had to deal with. For fuck's sake, Tim, I _died_. What if something happens to Bruce's kids, huh? What if then? And then he's blaming himself and nothing is the same after that.

"I mean, why now? Why not, I don't know, _think_ about what could happen? After all those times, after all the bullshit. . ." Jason shook his head. "Maybe I'm afraid of more _death_. Maybe I'm afraid of what could happen to Bruce. Hell if I know what I'm feeling right now. I just don't like this. I'm worried, okay?"

Tim was shocked into silence at this point.

Jason sighed, rubbed both hands over his face. "Not to mention I want to punch that idiot Clark into the stratosphere."

Tim finally spoke up. "Maybe you just care too much."

Jason gave him a bewildered look.

"Maybe you should just see how things play out, Jason. Worry too much and you might ruin it for yourself. I don't even think that Bruce is all that worked up about it anymore. You've got to relax."

Jason soaked in Tim's words. His mind swirled with questions, with "What if's", with "but's". He had no meritable response.

Tim stood up to leave. He was at the door when, after a moment's hesitation, Jason called out, "Hey, Replacement."

Tim rolled his eyes at the nickname (that he'd unfortunately become accustomed to) but nonetheless turned around.

Jason nodded once. "Thanks."

Tim nodded back and left, closing the door behind him with a soft _click._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't you hate it when you start a new fic and forget about your old, unfinished ones? That's me right now. :L


	5. Month Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Problems arise. Things are discussed.

Bruce was scheduled for an interview with Lois Lane (who already knew about Bruce's "secret" because of Clark, but had agreed to help Bruce announce the news. She never could pass up a good story.)

They went back and fourth, Lois asking the questions, Bruce answering.

"So I've noticed you've put on a little weight," Lois said nonchalantly, twirling her pen around in her hand. Her eyes said, "That's your cue."

"What, this?" Bruce only half-feigned being offended, hand going to his stomach. "No, I'm, uh. . ." his mouth went dry suddenly.

Telling his family was different. They were happy for him. They supported him. He was comfortable with them.

But telling the whole _world?_

There were certain things that Bruce told the media, said at social events. Things that would maintain his playboy persona.

Believe it or not, he had come to being comfortable with that mask. It meant he didn't have to reveal himself, that the criticism he received went towards that mask.

But underneath it all, it was still _Bruce_ who was receiving that criticism.

And this. . .he felt almost protective of his children then. He received threats online. He usually brushed them off. But this. . .this was different. This was telling the whole world, "I'm a changed man, now. I won't go back to my old ways after this. You're going to see the real me."

That was a big deal.

Lois was frowning at him, lavender eyes trained on his face. She mouthed, "Are you okay?"

Bruce felt sick. He must of looked it, too, because Lois turned off the recorder, snagged the trash can next to her chair and rushed over to hold it under Bruce's chin.

Bruce took the plastic bin in his hands and threw up.

"I'm sorry," he sniffled when he finished, his fingers shaking and his eyes shut tightly.

"It's fine, really," Lois said sincerely, her voice softer than Bruce had ever heard it. "Shouldn't the morning sickness have stopped by now? I mean, aren't you already in your fourth month?"

Bruce spat, wincing at the taste and motioning for his bottle of water. "Fifth. And it only happens when I'm nervous." _Or upset. Or overly-excited. Or worked up. Or angry._

Lois' nose crinkled. _"You_ get _nervous?"_

Bruce groaned; he'd walked right into that one. "I--"

"Look, I'll just type your interview and put it in the paper. You won't have to say it out loud." She took the trash can (with a grimace) and set it on the floor. She handed Bruce his bottle of water, which he held gingerly, as the plastic was still cool from when he'd taken it from the mini-fridge in the employee lounge.

Bruce nodded, too upset to give a long response, and took an appreciative sip of his water. "Thank you," he said, but his voice cracked a bit and he sniffled again. 

He cursed his hormones to hell.

"It's no problem." Lois smiled. "If it helps, I can probably get Clark to tell me something you would say." She shrugged.

Bruce gave her a weak grin. "What do I owe you?"

Lois mocked surprise. "Me? Ask for a favor? Oh, no, I couldn't possibly. . .well. . ." Lois thought for a moment before she grinned widely at Bruce.

"I think honorary godmother would suffice."

 

* * *

 

The media blew up immediately once the Daily Planet began selling their copies of their latest gossip.

Bruce got questions left and right, a ton of congratulations and many were asking if he was ready to settle down.

He didn't answer that particular question with a direct response.

Dick eventually convinced him to post a picture of how far along he was on his Twitter, which he'd abandoned two years ago. The picture was just of his belly, with one of his hands over it, and Clark's resting over his.

The comments he received were heartwarming, reading them made Bruce smile a bit. Some gave him advice, as well as tips for staying in shape and things to eat. Others asked the gender and the due date.

The most-asked question was:

_"Who's the father?"_

This was going to be tough.

 

* * *

 

"Bruce, your nose is bleeding again."

"What? Oh-- _dammit."_ Bruce brought his hand up to his face and he pulled it away with blood dotting his fingertips.

Dick reached over and pulled a few tissues from a Kleenex box and handed them to Bruce. Bruce gratefully accepted them and held them up to his nose, tilting his head back against the couch and closing his eyes.

Dick watched him carefully. "Why does your nose bleed so much?" he asked curiously.

"Changes to my blood vessels, I think." Bruce sighed. "You'd have to ask Clark."

Dick snorted. "He been doing research?"

Bruce thought of the three-hundred something page book sitting on Clark's side of the bed and smiled a little. "Something like that."

Bruce took the tissues away from his face when he finally felt the bleeding had stopped. He leaned forward to get up from the couch, wincing at the slight ache in his lower back. "Pretty soon I won't be able to get up on my own," he said as he crossed the room to throw away his used tissue.

"I'll help," Dick almost automatically said. He grinned. "Have they been moving?"

Bruce thought a moment. "Yes," he said slowly. "But it's not always noticeable. I can feel them shift, and once and a while they kick me. Other than that, not much."

And thank God for that. Had their kicks been more frequent, Bruce would have a few broken ribs.

Dick beamed harder. "You have _no_ idea how excited I am, Bruce."

"Oh, I think I have an idea," Bruce teased.

"Only a few more months! Before you know it, they'll be here!"

Bruce paused. "Yeah. . ." He could imagine two small children running and exploring the Manor, laughter echoing around the hallways, gummy grins on their faces as they toddled about.

There was that flutter in Bruce's stomach again.

 

* * *

 

"Bruce? Are you okay?"

"For the love of _God,_ Clark, _please_ go away."

Clark's hand drifted down to the doorknob.

"Don't open the door!" Bruce snapped immediately.

"Bruce, you've been in there for thirty minutes."

". . .I'll come out when I'm done."

"Done _what?"_

"Go away!"

Clark sighed. Back to square one.

"Do you need hel--"

The door swung open and slammed against the wall. Clark met the eyes of an incredibly annoyed Bruce Wayne. With his pants held up by one hand and his belt undone.

 _Oh!_ Suddenly Clark understood.

"For the _last_ time," he growled, glaring at Clark from red-rimmed eyes, "this is my time of privacy. I have been sitting there for _thirty. Minutes._ I will come out when I am _finished._ Do you understand?"

Clark nodded mutely. Bruce huffed, slammed the door in his face and locked it. The doorframe shook.

He waited a minute before saying, ". . .should I get Alfred?"

"Please," was the response, and another breath of irritation.

• • •

"Alfred," Clark called as he walked down the hall.

"In here, sir," came Alfred's voice from the den.

Clark entered the room to find Alfred dusting off the book shelves, and Dick and Jason sitting on the carpet in front of the TV and playing some video game, with two characters that were brutally beating each other. From the looks of it, Jason was winning.

"K.O.!" the television screamed as Dick's person went down.

"Bruce wanted me to come get you," Clark said quietly, getting as close to Alfred as possible so he could whisper. "He, uh. . ."

Dick paused the game. "Hold on. I'm gonna go get a drink."

"You just need an excuse to leave 'cause you're losing," Jason taunted with a smirk as Dick got up to leave.

"Well, there goes my offer of getting you a snack," Dick said nonchalantly. He waved a hand dismissively as he walked out.

"Get me that container of Chips Ahoy!" Jason shouted after him.

"Before supper, Master Jason?" Alfred admonished halfheartedly. "For shame."

"Oh, whatever."

Clark wanted to bang his head against a wall.

Dick pausing the game meant the battle music would stop.

The room was quiet.

_Damn it!_

"Master Bruce is what, sir?" Alfred inquired, moving to the next shelf with his feather duster (Clark should buy him a Swiffer duster for Christmas).

"He's, erm. . ." He glanced at Jason on the floor in front of the couch. He'd gotten on his phone and was looking something up--cheats for the game, it looked like.

"He's. . ." Clark stifled a sigh (he'd been doing a lot of that lately). "He's. . .having trouble going number two."

A snort from the floor.

Alfred turned to him, an eyebrow raised. "He's. . ."

"Yes."

A barely controlled peal of laughter.

"Is he still. . .in the bathroom?"

"He's been there for thirty minutes."

And then Jason was laughing so hard he was damn near wheezing.

"Master Jason!" Alfred scolded.

"Bruce is. . .Bruce is. . .AAAAAAHAHAHAAAA!" Jason fell to the floor, rolling around on the carpet with his laughter.

Dick walked in, holding Jason's cookies and his own cup of lemonade. "What's so funny?"

"Jason, please," Clark said, exasperated.

Jason stopped long enough to wipe tears from his eyes. "You will _never_ believe this--"

"Jason!"

"What, I can't tell him?"

"It wasn't any of your business in the first place!"

"You are literally five feet away from me. Of course I'm going to hear you."

Clark made a series of unintelligible, spluttered sounds.

"Heard _what?"_ Dick asked again.

"Jason, don't you dare," Clark hissed. He'd never hear the end of it from Bruce if Jason showed up at the bathroom door and started taunting him.

"You're not very quiet, Clark, it's your own fault," Jason said, crossing his arms, his tone matter-of-fact.

Clark nearly exploded.

"What?! It's not like I _waltzed_ in here and screamed at the top of my lungs, 'HEY EVERYONE! BRUCE IS _CONSTIPATED!'"_

The room was quiet. Even Jason's eyes had gone wide.

"Well, then," Dick said quietly. "This is. . .awkward."

There was a sudden screech from upstairs.

**_"CLARK JOSEPH KENT!!"_ **

Clark wanted to rip his hair out.

Jason shrugged at him. "Now _that_. . .you brought that on yourself."

 

* * *

 

"Are you feeling alright, Clark?"

"Fine. Why?"

Bruce called bullshit.

Clark's eyes had dark circles around them, a sure sign of fatigue. Second, and while Bruce's nausea had simmered down to a mere annoyance, Clark would have to stop himself because of a dizzy spell. He'd also been complaining about his lower back these last few nights. . .

Bruce's eyes narrowed. "Are you sure?"

"Fine," Clark snipped, his voice a little sharper than intended.

A barely controllable flare of annoyance ran through Bruce. "You're lying. Come on." He stood up and grabbed Clark's arm.

Clark let out a sound of protest. "Why?" he groaned almost childishly. "Where are we going?"

"To see Leslie," Bruce said, dragging Clark (quite literally) out of the house and to Clark's car. He got Clark to stand up straight, and he held his hand out.

Clark stared at Bruce's open palm dumbly. He was _so_ out of it. "What?"

"Keys."

Clark looked taken aback. ". . .you can't drive."

A scoff. "I have a license. Just give me the keys."

Clark shook his head. "No, I mean. . .you can't drive, like. . ."

Bruce gasped. "Are you saying I can't drive because I'm _pregnant?!"_ His face went beet red, his eyes narrowed to slits.

Clark was immediately wide awake, and he stood up straighter once he noticed his mistake. "Wait, damn it, I meant--" _I meant I'm afraid something might happen. I meant I'm worried. I meant that I don't want you to get hurt--_

"Give me the keys."

"But Bru--"

_"Give. Me. The. Keys."_

Clark reluctantly dropped his car keys into Bruce's waiting palm.

Bruce walked around to the driver's seat, opened the door, and slid in. He started the car and buckled his seat belt.

Clark knelt down to the passenger's side window, which Bruce lowered just to send Clark his deadliest glare.

"Where are you going?" Clark asked.

"I'm going to pick Leslie up," Bruce said defiantly, turning and facing forward.

". . .so did you want me to stay here, or--"

Without warning, Bruce slammed his foot on the gas and sped away.

"Be careful!" Clark shouted after him.

The response he got was Bruce rolling down the driver's side window and sticking his middle finger out of it.

Clark could only sigh.

• • • 

Leslie looked at Clark curiously. She grabbed his hands and inspected them, feeling around his knuckles and his wrists.

"Have you experienced any swelling? Specifically in the chest or hand areas?" she asked as she pressed two fingers to Clark's neck, feeling all around the underside of his jaw.

Clark's face warmed, and he felt Bruce's razor sharp gaze in him. "Uh, chest. . .area."

He heard Bruce shift. He was probably smirking.

"Any other symptoms besides the nausea, fatigue, and the backache?"

Clark thought a moment.

"Mood swings," Bruce piped up from the other couch.

"No I ha--" Clark stopped, suddenly remembering how uncharacteristically angry he was at Jason the other night. "Actually. . .yes."

Leslie's mouth morphed into a smile. "Well. . .there's nothing serious going on, that's for sure."

"Wait, really?" Both Bruce and Clark asked simultaneously.

"I would have thought you were pregnant," Bruce said, only half joking.

"Oh, please," Clark retorted, rolling his eyes. "We haven't had sex in a month."

Bruce's eyes narrowed to pinpoints.

"Of course not, Bruce." Leslie turned and smiled at Clark. "Not only because you're Kryptonian, Clark--and I'm sure the aftereffects of being exposed to Kryptonite are far worse--these are incredibly common symptoms." She saw Clark wince.

She glanced between the two men. "Clark, I have reason to believe that what you're suffering from is Couvade syndrome, also known as 'sympathy pregnancy.'"

"What?" both men asked.

"Well, for one, have you been stressed lately?"

"Excessively so." He cast a wary glance at Bruce, who stuck his tongue out at him.

Leslie smiled amusedly at Bruce. "Oh, I can only imagine, Clark."

"Hey--!"

"Oh, hush, Bruce, we all know it's true," Leslie teased. She turned back to Clark. "Well, what that means is you'll feel almost every ache, every mood, every craving, all the heartburn, and all the breast tenderness that Bruce will feel. Just not as extreme. At most, it'll be a bother, but it won't last longer than the pregnancy. You might even gain a few pounds in the waist area."

Clark's eyes had gone wider and wider throughout Leslie's explanation. "What about. . .what about labor?"

"Now _that's_ the question that I was waiting for." Leslie shifted her weight to one foot. "It varies, depending on testosterone and estrogen levels within you specifically. In your case, it could be a number of things, because I have no idea how much testosterone a male Kryptonian has. You could experience some minor cramps, or you could feel the same amount of pain that Bruce does."

Clark blanched at that. Bruce's smirk only grew wider.

"We'll just have to see when we get there." Leslie packed up her bag, which she really hadn't needed. "Until then, try and watch out for more symptoms as much as possible. If it gets any worse, don't forget to call me."

Clark nodded dumbly and he watched her send Bruce a warm smile.

"I'm assuming that Alfred will be taking me home, then?" Leslie said.

 

* * *

 

"Doesn't Damian come home today?"

Dick's question nearly made Bruce have a heart attack.

"What?" he asked, bewildered.

Dick blinked at him. "Damian comes home today. You know, from that mountain of discipline you sent him to?"

"The mountains in Switzerland?" Bruce asked dumbly.

"Yeah, Bruce. Wow, did you forget?"

Bruce debated whether or not to answer that question. He'd been so caught up with the pregnancy, he'd almost completely forgotten about his youngest son.

". . .It may have slipped my mind," Bruce said weakly. A hand went to his forehead. "What the hell am I gonna say? 'You've been gone for months, but be expecting two new siblings'?"

"Yeah, he won't react very well to that. . ." Dick said thoughtfully, hand going to his chin. He shrugged. "Maybe just go with it. When he comes home, I'm sure he'll notice, you can gauge his reaction by the way his face changes, then decide what to say."

Bruce nodded. "I'll try. . . did Clark know he was coming home today?"

Dick's face was unreadable. He knew what Bruce was getting at.

He chose his next words carefully. "I'm sure he did initially, Bruce, but it might have slipped his mind, too."

Bruce nodded again. "Hmm."

Dick sighed internally. He just saved Clark's ass. He knew that Clark had known because he was the one who told him in the first place. Clark just didn't know how to approach Bruce and ask him what they would say to his son who had been gone for over seven months.

Both Dick and Bruce could only assume how Damian would take the news. Either way, it wouldn't be taken lightly. There would be the tantrum, then the denial, then the "Who do I need to kill?"

But they'd been worried about Jason, too, and he eventually pulled through. (Dick caught him searching baby names.)

Dick and Bruce seemed to sigh loudly at the same time.

They could only hope.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a Tumblr account (after all these years).
> 
> It's my AO3 username: Onyxim. I really just want people to follow the blog I got going on, "Superbat Captions." 
> 
> I make memes on a daily basis (I usually send them to my sister), so I figured, eh? Might as well make a Tumblr account for it. 
> 
> I'll follow you back (or, however it works, still new to actually having a Tumblr account rather than just scrolling through people's blogs).


	6. Month Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian returns and things take an abrupt turn.

Bruce had about an hour before Damian got back. An hour before Alfred drove to pick him up from the airport. An hour before Bruce would have to explain to his youngest son how he got pregnant.

Well, not _how_ how, but still.

Bruce's thoughts were jumbled. He didn't know whether to go with Alfred to the airport, or stay home and surprise Damian _here_.

"I think you should go to the airport," Clark said from across the room, on the couch. "Alfred's got the car ready either way, right? You should go with him."

Bruce stopped pacing and looked up, frowning. "Was I talking out loud?"

Clark shrugged. "Ah. . .you were mumbling to yourself." His eyes got concerned. "Are you okay, Bruce?"

"Yeah, sure, if you call _internally screaming_ 'okay.'" Bruce, who had been pacing in front of the fireplace, leaned against the mantle piece. He was working himself up and he needed to calm down. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply.

He heard Clark get up and cross the living room. "How are you so calm about this?" murmured Bruce as Clark's arms closed around him.

"Honestly? If you weren't here, I'd flip. I have to be calm when you're not and vice versa." A kiss on his temple. "That, and I know that everything is going to turn out fine." Clark steered him over to the couch and Bruce leaned against Clark's shoulder as he helped him sit down and then dropped down onto the cushions next to him.

Bruce snorted. "You're such an optimist."

Clark smiled. "And you're a bit of a pessimist. The point is, you shouldn't worry so much. Relax. It'll be okay."

Clark was right. Bruce took a deep breath and opened his eyes, Clark's sapphire ones affectionate. His smile was even warmer.

There was that warm feeling was in Bruce's heart again and then his bottom lip was trembling.

Clark frowned suddenly. "Bruce, what's wrong?"

Bruce couldn't stop the tears. He was sobbing uncontrollably. He buried his face into Clark's shirt. "W-w-w-what did I ever d-do to d-deserve you?"

Clark hugged Bruce tighter, a small smile gracing his face.

"Bruce, it's okay, honestly."

"You're always so n-nice to me," he hiccupped, his voice muffled.

"Aww, Bruce. . ."

"A-and I'm always s-so _mean - "_

"Not always. . ."

"And s-sometimes I'm mean w-without even r-realizing. . ." He sniffed. "I'm going to be a t-terrible father - "

Clark gasped. "Bruce! No, you're not, you're going to be a *great* father. We both are. "

Another small sniff. "But the boys - "

"Love you no matter what. You've made mistakes, sure, but I'm sure they've forgiven you."

Bruce looked up at him with red eyes to raise an eyebrow incredulously.

"Well, not all of them, but you can't be stuck on past mistakes because you've already learned from them. You won't make them again. Besides, we've all been pretty stupid at one time or another. I mean, remember when I first met Conner? How cold I was towards him?"

Bruce smiled against the fabric of Clark's shirt. "Yeah."

"I hate to say it, but I was a huge asshole for that."

Bruce laughed, a sound that vibrated against Clark's chest and made his smile bigger.

Bruce leaned up to give Clark a peck on the cheek. "Thank you, I really needed that."

Clerk swiped away the remainder of the tears away with his thumb. "I can tell you've been carrying that with you for a while. If you ever need to talk. . .don't forget that we're all here for you, okay?"

Bruce opened his mouth to reply when he received a hard kick to his ribcage. He hissed and grimaced.

He cut Clark off, seeing his eyes get concerned again. "The babies are kicking."

Clark's face went bright. "Really?"

"Well, one of them. Want to feel?"

Clark was speechless, but he managed to nod. Bruce took his hands - his unbearably warm hands, he might add - and put them on his stomach.

They waited a few seconds, but nothing happened. Clark's face was stoic, but his eyes were disappointed.

"It only happens every few days anyway," Bruce said, trying to cheer Clark up a bit. He tried to change the subject. "Will you come with me to the airport?"

Clark winced. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"Why?"

"Think about it. Damian sees that his father is six months pregnant - with _twins_ \- who's he going to attack first?"

Bruce sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Damn. You're right."

"Does he even know we're together?"

"No, we were still a secret thing before he left. . ." Bruce trailed off. "I have to take _someone_ with me."

"Take Dick. I think Damian likes him most." Clark shrugged. Then he frowned. "I _think."_

Bruce smiled. "You know so much about him, yet you've only met him once."

Clark leaned over to kiss Bruce on the lips. "I learned from you."

There was a knock on the doorway, and the pair looked up to find Alfred standing in the doorframe, dressed in his chauffeur suit. "It's time, Master Bruce," he said, and it sounded ominous in Bruce's ears.

Bruce took a deep breath. He felt Clark grab his hands and squeeze. "Remember, Bruce, it'll be alright."

Bruce nodded, gaining some semblance at Clark's easily-said words. "Okay. I'm ready." His voice held determination. "Now, help me up off of this couch."

• • •

"Bruce, are you okay?"

 _"Never better,"_ was Bruce's snappy response. They'd been in the car for thirty minutes, and frankly, the initial nausea-caused-by-nervousness that hit him right before he left the house was _not_ agreeing with the motion of the car.

Dick's frown deepened. "Do you want Alfred to roll down a window or something. . .?"

"Please."

Alfred sent a concerned look to Bruce from the driver's seat as he rolled the window down. "Master Bruce. . .are you alright?"

"I'm fine." Bruce closed his eyes and let the cool air wash across his face. He was so _nervous_ , which even surprised _him_. Bruce was almost _never_ nervous! And yet, during the length of his pregnancy, all he'd been doing was worrying.

_Curse these kids. . ._

"You look a little green, Bruce." A barely controlled bark of laughter. "Heh. Even more so than J'onn."

Bruce, despite his woozy stomach, had to roll his eyes at that one. "Funny."

Dick just chuckled and leaned forward from his place in the backseat. "But in all seriousness. . .are you okay?"

"I'll be fine." _Focus on the horizon, focus on the horizon. . ._

"Five minutes until we arrive, sir."

The sudden reality of seeing his son after almost eight months hit him like a truck. His son! And he sent him away for eight months! What kind of father was he? Bruce's emotions spiraled downward (even more than they were before). His eyes went blurry. He turned his head towards the window and wiped his eyes as discreetly as possible. The last thing he needed was to be crying in front of Dick and Alfred.

The airport came into view.

• • •

Damian dragged his suitcase behind him quite lazily and held his sword in the other. He wasn't as thrilled as he thought he would be. Perhaps nothing has changed? The feeling in his gut told him that something was amiss, but then again, his father proved to him time and time again that his gut feeling was almost always wrong.

Much to his chagrin.

He could see the Wayne Enterprises' limo up ahead, parked on the curb with its engine running.  As he got closer, the backseat door opened and out stepped Dick, all six feet of him.

"Dami!" he exclaimed, and then he was taking long strides over to him.

"Grayson, don't you _dare -"_

Damian couldn't even finish his sentence before he was bear hugged viciously. Dick's smell engulfed him entirely. He relaxed some. He smelled like the Manor.

It was good to be back.

Dick pulled away with a brilliant smile. "How was Switzerland?"

"Cold," Damian said shortly. He didn't elaborate any further than that. He'd tell him later.

"Wow, you got taller."

Damian noticed with a smirk that he now came up to Dick's chest. "So I have."

The driver's door opened and Alfred stepped out. He walked around the car to the passenger side and cast Damian a glance. "Master Damian."

Damian nodded in turn. "Pennyworth."

"I assume that your time in the mountains proved educational?"

"If you call _scrubbing floors_ an 'educational experience,' then yes, I would say so." He paused. "Where's Father? Is he here?"

This was a moment he was somewhat dreading. Damian could begrudgingly admit that he was slightly guilty for disappointing his father and having to be sent to Switzerland. What would his father say when he saw him? Would he be met with coldness? Would he get. . . _hugged?_ That would be awkward to say in the least. Should he himself initiate said hug?

Alfred said nothing but opened the passenger door. He moved away so that someone could get out of the car. A hand reached out to grab the top of the door for leverage, and there was Father.

Damian noticed right away that he looked different. He looked. . .happier. The steely edges of his face has softened, like he'd been scowling less. His skin had a slight glow to it.

It was unsettling to say in the least.

Something had happened while he was gone. Something, but what?

Damian walked forward, his movements stiff.

His father looked away for a second, his eyes flicking to the side, before he stepped away and closed the car door, which revealed the rest of his body from the chest down.

Damian stopped in his tracks.

". . .Father?!"

• • •

The car ride home was awkward to say in the least.

After Bruce mumbled, "We'll talk when we get home," and Damian slid into the car next to Dick (who sent Damian a halfhearted shrug every time he gave him a bewildered "I can't believe this" look) the air was thick with silence besides the sound of the car's motor. Bruce stared intensely out of the window, Alfred's face was stoic as ever, Dick looked overall uncomfortable with the silence, and Damian switched between glaring at his hands and glancing up to look at his father in the front seat.

Needless to say, it was a long ride home.

• • •

When they pulled up to the Manor, Damian rushed out of the car before Alfred could pull it to a stop. His fists were clenched, he practically stomped up the stone stairs, dragging his suitcase behind him

"Damian - " Bruce called after him as he got out of the car, wincing when the front doors slammed. He sighed heavily, bringing a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose and trying to quell the oncoming headache. He didn't know whether to be immensely frustrated or exasperated.

Dick exited the car the same time as Alfred. "Huh. That's the first time I've ever seen him do something remotely teenager-like."

Bruce looked up to send him a glare.

"What? It's true, he's having his first teen tantrum. The stomping, the door slamming - come on, I used to do it all the time."

Bruce just shook his head. "What am I supposed to do? The surprise, I'd anticipated, but the anger?"

"It could be a number of reasons, Bruce. You won't know until you talk to him."

A huff of breath. "Yeah, I know."

They were quite for a few seconds, and then they heard a loud yelp from inside of the house.

Bruce instantly recognized it. "Oh, _damn it,_ I forgot that Clark was here."

Dick's face fell. "Uh-oh."

Without another word, they both rushed into the house.

Alfred sighed and got back into the car to drive it into the garage.

This would certainly be an interesting discussion.

• • •

Clark was just sitting on the couch and fiddling with his phone in his hands (he was waiting for Bruce to text him) when a kid stomped into a living room, holding a sword and gripping the handle of a suitcase.

They both met eyes, Clark's surprised and the kid's as wide as dinner plates.

 _This must be Damian,_ Clark thought, as his eyes raked over his face. The uncanny resemblance to Bruce was almost scary. The sharp cyan eyes, midnight black hair, the nearly permanent scowl.

"You must be Damian," Clark said as he got up from the couch, giving a friendly smile. He held out his hand. "My name's - "

"HAAAAAAAH!" Damian gave his best battlecry as he lunged at Clark faster than he could register, unsheathed sword in hand.

Clark shouted as he was tackled to the ground. The only thing he managed to catch was the gleam of the sword as it was plunged into his chest.

The blade shattered into a thousand pieces against his skin and fell to the floor around them with a glittery sound.

Damian's eyes were wider (if that was even possible) as he stared, astonished, at the handle of his sword in his hands.

 _"Damian, **stop,"**_ came Bruce's thoroughly stern tone.

Damian stiffened, scowling. He got up off of Clark and turned to the doorway, where Bruce stood, his face gone cold. Dick hovered behind him, a smug "You're in trouble now," look in his eyes.

Clark stood up and brushed the leftover shards of sword from his body. He could feel the tension between the two, their body language poised as if waiting for an attack.

"Did staying in those mountains teach you _nothing?"_ Bruce practically snarled as he stalked forward. His words were said in a voice that Clark hadn't heard in a long time, the Bat voice. He suppressed a shiver.

"I thought he was an intruder," Damian protested, his words slow like he was choosing them carefully.

"And your first instinct was to _kill_ him?" Bruce's glare could melt ice.

"In my defense, I don't know who he is and why he's here!" Damian retorted, his voice raising.

"That is _not_ how we do things and you know that," Bruce hissed, and Clark caught the barest twitch in his eye. Man, was he pissed. "Why do you think you were sent there in the first place? So you could learn some discipline."

"Sending me away isn't going to do a damn thing, and it sure as _hell_ isn't going to make me a better son!" Damian finally snapped, his fists clenching. When the words left his mouth, he froze.

Bruce inhaled sharply, looking taken aback. The anger started to dissipate from his face, just as quickly as it had appeared.

Damian looked frustrated for a second, as if he couldn't get a good grasp on what he wanted to say. After a moment he inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. "How far along are you?" he asked, his voice quiet.

Bruce hesitated a bit. "Six months," he said.

Damian cast a wary glance back at Clark, his eyes disapproving. "And how long have you two. . .?"

Clark was surprised, but only mildly. This _was_ the son of the World's Greatest Detective.

"Fifteen months," Clark answered before Bruce could open his mouth.

Damian seemed to absorb all of the information. His face was contemplative, the wheels turning in his head. Clark felt suddenly uncomfortable, out of place. He'd never felt tension like this before between the family, save for some of Jason's arguments with Bruce.

Damian left the living room without another word, clenching the handle of his sword and wheeling his suitcase behind him.

Dick spoke up for the first time. "Should I talk to him?" he said when he was sure Damian was out of earshot.

"No," Bruce answered almost automatically, his voice monotonous. "Let him sort things out on his own for a while." He turned to leave for he and Clark's room.

Dick stood there a moment longer, sent an apologetic glance to Clark. "Don't worry, it was worse when they first met." With that said, he too left the room.

Clark stood in the middle of the room, the crumbled metal blade of a sword at his feet, and wondered how everything went downhill so fast.

-

Clark came up to the master bedroom an hour later, after sitting down in the kitchen and downing two cups of Alfred's tea.

The lamp was off, which meant that Bruce had probably gone to sleep, but when Clark shucked off his clothes and slipped under the covers, he could very clearly hear Bruce's breathing, which was slightly irregular. He was still awake. His back faced Clark.

Clark touched a hand to Bruce's arm and frowned slightly when he found that he was trembling a bit.

"Bruce?" Clark asked softly.

It took a minute, but Bruce rolled over onto his back, his eyes red-rimmed and glazed over. He grabbed Clark's hand and held, looking like he didn't know what to say.

"Am I a bad father, Clark?" he finally asked, his voice croaky like he hadn't spoken in years.

Clark didn't answer. He didn't know what to say. Knowing Bruce, he didn't want counseling, just comfort.

Bruce sighed and his eyes flicked to the side, off into the darkness of the room. He never let go of Clark's hand.

They laid in silence until they both dozed off.

* * *

 

About a week later, Bruce had fallen into some sort of pit of indecision; he didn't know whether to approach Damian or have Damian come to him first. Either way, they needed to discuss things, but with Damian's words echoing in his head -

_" - and it sure as hell isn't going to make me a better son!_

\- Bruce couldn't see it as being a very positive conversation. 

Now, he lay flat on his back on his bed, his T-shirt lifted up slightly as he rubbed his belly absently. He stared at the ceiling, contemplating what to do and what his plan would be. 

Clark had gone to work at the Planet as usual, albeit hesitantly, as if he were afraid something would happen to Bruce while he was gone. Bruce convinced him that he'd be fine. 

He sighed and closed his eyes, his hand resting right above his bellybutton. There was a small twinge in his lower abdomen and he grimaced. That had been happening all week, its intensity climbing every time. 

There was a soft knock at the door. Without opening his eyes, Bruce called, "Come in." 

He heard the door open and he cracked open an eye. Dick gave him a smile and Jason nodded briefly as he closed the door behind him. "How are you feeling?" Dick asked and walked over to the bed. Jason followed him with uncertainty.

Bruce sighed. "I could rattle off a whole list, but overall, I'm restless." 

Dick huffed a laugh, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Twins giving you any trouble? Have they been moving?"

"Unfortunately. They keep waking me up. Leslie mentioned that they're not supposed to kick until later months but they're half-Kryptonian, so what they do is unpredictable." 

Dick's face was unreadable for a moment. "Can I. . .?" 

Bruce lifted up his shirt a bit more. "Sure." 

Dick placed a hand on Bruce's belly and splayed out his fingers. For a moment, the only sound was Bruce's soft breathing, and then there was the barest thump against the palm of Dick's hand.

Dick gasped and Bruce smiled. 

 _Thump. Thump._ Two more flutters under Bruce's skin and Bruce let out a breathy laugh. 

"What?" Dick said.

"They've never kicked this lightly before," Bruce mused. 

"Okay, move it, Richard, I want a turn," Jason suddenly said and all but pushed Dick out of the way. He placed both of his hands on Bruce's stomach and waited, his eyes wide with anticipation. 

A few seconds. 

_Thump. Thump, thump, thump, thump._

Bruce made and "oof" sound as he was kicked multiple times in a row. 

"Holy shit," Jason whispered, astonished. His eyebrows had risen so high they nearly touched his hairline. "Those are Clark's kids alright, that was borderline superspeed." He took his hands away.

"You're telling me," Bruce said, wincing and rubbing a sore spot. He sat up and leaned against the headboard, reaching behind him to lay a hand flat against his lower back. The ache had grown slightly and the uncomfortable sensation in his lower abdomen appeared again. 

"Future soccer players," Dick said, with an airy amusement in his voice. 

Bruce wanted to laugh but his face twisted with discomfort. He leaned his head back against the headboard and closed his eyes.

He could hear the barely concealed concern in Jason's voice. "Everything okay, B?" 

Bruce hummed. "Yeah, I think - I think I am. Probably just Braxton Hicks contractions." 

Dick's forehead creased at "contractions." "Should I call Leslie?" 

"Just to be safe." 

Dick wasted no time pulling out his phone and calling. "She said she'll be here in fifteen minutes," he said after a brief, thirty-second conversation. 

Bruce laid down on his side and curled in on himself a bit to alleviate some of the ache in his lower back. One of his hands cradled low on his stomach, just under his bellybutton, where the odd sensation was. It dissipated for the moment. 

He felt the boys' eyes on him. "Don't worry," he said, "it's not painful as much as it is really uncomfortable." 

"How does it feel?" 

Giving and amused huff of breath, Bruce said, "Imagine someone reaching inside your stomach and _squeezing_." 

Dick winced and Jason's eyes widened. 

"Yikes."

"Mmhmm." Bruce's eyes slipped closed as the wave of discomfort returned after about thirty more seconds. He breathed deeply, in and out, to lessen the feeling. 

He felt a hand on his back, rubbing up and down. He jumped at the contact but immediately relaxed when it soothed some of the ache. He let out a relaxed breath.

He hadn't realized that he had dozed off until he jolted awake at the sound of his bedroom door creaking open. 

"I got here as fast as I could," came Leslie's voice, taking in the sight of Bruce curled up on the bed. "Are you feeling okay, Bruce?" 

"Braxton Hicks contractions," Dick supplied for her, his voice somewhere across the room. The hand was still rubbing at his back. Bruce was surprised. It was Jason that was sitting behind him? 

"I see," Leslie said, her voice a bit relieved. "Are they intense?" She was closer to the bed now. Jason stopped rubbing and moved for Leslie to examine Bruce. "On a scale of one to ten, ten being the worst, how bad are they?" 

"Seven," Bruce said. He felt Leslie's hands all over him, pressing against his back, gently moving his hand away from his stomach to feel around it, searching for something. She finally instructed him gently to roll over, placing both hands on either side of his stomach. 

"Tell me when it starts again," she said.

Bruce waited about a minute and a half before he sucked in a breath and said, "Now." 

Leslie waited, concentrating. She moved her hands occasionally, just half an inch in either direction. 

"That's good," she murmured to herself. She straightened. "Well, I can tell you that you're not in labor, that's good." 

Jason made a confused "Huh?!" sound. 

Leslie sent him an amused smile. "What I mean is, these aren't pre-labor contractions. At the rate this pregnancy is going, it could very well happen. Bruce could go into labor tomorrow. His children have Kryptonian DNA, which, in turn, causes them to develop faster. This is probably why your Braxton Hicks contractions are so intense Bruce." She placed a hand near the hem of his sweatpants. "Here the babies are pushing down on your reproductive organs, causing the uterine lining to tense and contract to prepare for delivery, like a practice round before the real thing. Normally, they wouldn't be this intense this early, but as I said, the outcome of carrying half-Kryptonians is unpredictable." 

She straightened and smiled warmly. "You have nothing to worry about, but if they become a ten, I want you to call me, okay?" 

Bruce nodded. He was getting tired. 

"To alleviate the discomfort I suggest changing positions if you were sitting or laying down, the position you are in now is perfect. You can take a warm bath for about thirty minutes or ask Alfred to prepare you some herbal tea. They all work fine. Again, if those methods don't work call me." 

"Okay," Bruce said, but his eyes were drooping and his voice was breathier. "Anything else?" 

"Nope. You're all set." She started to leave, but she put a heavy hand on both Jason and Dick's shoulders. "Take care of him, you two," she said, loud enough for Bruce to hear.

She smirked at Bruce's grumbled protests and left the room. 

When she closed the bedroom door, she turned and came face-to-face with a kid she recognized as Bruce's only biological son. 

"Damian," she greeted politely. "I didn't know that you were back, I hope all was well."

"Thompkins," he returned, his face and voice neutral. He seemed to fight with himself a bit before asking in a hushed tone, "Is Father alright?"

She smiled. "He'll be just fine," she said. "He just needs some rest." 

Damian nodded mutely. Leslie walked away, saying, "Keep an eye on him for me." She disappeared down the hallway.

Damian heard the doorknob turn and he quickly his next to a tall vase. Jason and Dick emerged.

"He scared the shit out of me," Jason said as the door clicked shut.

"You worry too much," Dick chastised lightly. "He'll be fine." 

"You never know, Dick," Todd said, his voice as serious as Damian had ever heard it. "You never know." 

When their voices faded eventually, Damian took the opportunity to quietly slip from his hiding place and crack open the door to his father's room. 

His father lay in bed, his light snores coming with every other breath. He lay on his back, a hand laid almost protectively over his stomach and the other flung over his face. His covers had been pushed down to his feet. 

Damian thought he looked pretty cold.

Quiet as a mouse, probably quieter, Damian snuck in and padded over to the bed. Slowly and carefully, he pulled the covers up over his fathers sleeping form, gently over his legs, pausing when he reached his abdomen. 

"Twins," he had heard Grayson say earlier. 

Damian reached out one hand, his hand just barely brushing over Father's warm skin. Too warm, he thought for a minute. 

He pulled back. Maybe another time. 

He brought the covers up to Father's shoulders and left. 

Damian made a decision once the door was closed. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized that I transitioned from month five to month six on the SAME DAY that Damian came back. Let's just pretend that the day that he returned marked the first day of month six, m'kay? Sorry about that slip-up.


	7. Month Six (Part Two)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to throw in a part two because I felt like the last chapter didn't have enough content. :D

Bruce glared down at his feet. His unbearably swollen, aching feet.

Clark emerged from the bathroom, fiddling with his tie. "What's wrong?"

"My feet are killing me," Bruce said. "It's even worse than yesterday. I don't think I can stand up."

Clark sat next to him on the bed and Bruce turned to tie his tie, as usual. Clark grabbed his hands gently, bringing them down. Bruce raised an eyebrow.

"Y'know, I haven't taken a day off work in a while," Clark began. "Do you want me to stay home today? I can call Perry."

Bruce scoffed. "Clark, I'm not going to stop you from going to work."

"Well, why not? We haven't spent much time together in a while. Just the two of us."

At the suggestiveness in Clark's tone Bruce's eyes went wide. Clark just smiled and slid down to the ground, positioned on his knees. Bruce was confused for a moment until Clark took one of his feet in his hand and started to massage gently.

"We can just relax together," Clark said, his voice gone soft just like Bruce liked it. "Just you and me."

"Oh," Bruce softly sighed, the pain subsiding with the gentle movements of Clark's fingers. His head fell back and his eyes slipped closed at the pleasurable feeling.

"Feel good?" Clark asked.

" _Yes,"_ Bruce hissed. "God, you should just quit your job at the Planet and become a masseuse, holy fuck. Oh, Jesus."

Clark just chuckled at that.

After a few minutes of Bruce enjoying Clark's sensuous massaging and Clark enjoying Bruce's small moans of bliss, Bruce demanded, "Give me your phone."

Clark obliged, pulling his phone out of his khaki pants. Bruce took the phone from him and scrolled down his contacts.

"You're calling Perry, aren't you?"

"Better me than you," Bruce said, sighing when Clark switched feet again. "I don't want to hear him yelling at you over the phone."

When Perry picked up, Bruce greeted in his overly-happy Playboy billionaire voice, _"Hello,_ is this Perry White?" He paused. "Mmhmm, yes, I'd just like to inform you that Clark won't be coming in today." He stopped, his smile faltering for a moment. "Why? Oh, for reasons, he is just staying in. Nothing to worry about."

Hearing Perry's immediate protests over the line, Bruce's smile dropped altogether. "Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Yep. Okay, buh-bye."

Bruce ended the call and dropped the phone on the bed, his lips pressed into a thin line.

"He's lucky I'm in a good mood," he grumbled, his eyes dark, "or I would have fucking fired him right then and there. Can you believe that? He _yelled_ at me. He _yelled_ at his _boss._ Really? If anyone even _dared_ to speak out against me at the office they'd have pissed their pants first. The nerve of some people."

"That's Perry for you," Clark said and switched feet again. "Over the years, I've grown used to his short temper."  He smirked. "Why didn't you just tell him why I wasn't coming in?"

"You wanted me to explain that I'm keeping you here to massage my feet?"

Clark shrugged. "Point taken."

Bruce mumbled something dark under his breath. After a moment, he asked, "Does he do that often?"

"What?"

"Yell at you."

Clark really didn't want his boss to lose his job. "Not often. On bad days, maybe," he lied.

"Good." He crossed his arms. "He's _really_ lucky that I'm in a good mood," he muttered again.

Clark laughed.

* * *

 

Two hours after they went to bed, Clark was pulled out of his sleep by someone shaking his shoulder incessantly.

"Whuhh? Huh?" he mumbled, not quite awake, his eyes cracked open. As it was, he was still suffering from Couvade syndrome, and sharing most of Bruce's fatigue.

"Clark," Bruce whispered. "Clark, can you go get me some pizza?"

"Some. . .huh? What?" Clark rolled over onto his back, staring at Bruce, who was all but drooling. He reached over and turned on the lamp. He glanced at the digital clock: it read 3:47 AM.

"Pizza. I want pizza."

Clark blinked a few times, dumbfounded. "Why?"

"I'm starving."

"You ate four burgers three hours ago."

Bruce pouted. "But I'm hungry again," he whined. "And I want a pizza."

Clark looked at him incredulously. This was the first time Bruce had actually woken him up for food. Other times, he'd texted him during work, or came to him randomly and demanded an odd meal.

Clark sighed and began sitting up. "What kind?"

Bruce's face lit up when he realized that he had won Clark over. "I want a flambee pizza."

The name rang a bell. After a League mission, they stopped to get pizza, and. . .

"Bruce, they only sell that in France."

"I know."

Clark looked exasperated. Between the innocent look on Bruce's face and the fact that Clark could never turn down said face, he slipped out of bed to find his Superman suit.

With superspeed, he pulled it on. "I'll be right back," he said, adjusting a boot.

Bruce nodded and grinned, looking like he could taste it already.

And with that, Clark flew out of the bedroom window.

• • •

Clark held the box in his hands, the smell of fresh cheeses and meat and onion wafting up into his face as he flew quickly but carefully (so as not to drop the pizza.) Thankfully, he'd gotten it for free for two reasons. One, he didn't have any Euro on him, and two, he was Superman, the poor man behind the counter nearly had a heart attack when he flew in and promised several times that it was on the house.

He was flying over Maine when his comm fizzled to life. "Clark," came Bruce's voice.

"I'm on my way now, Bruce, don't worry."

"You already got the pizza?" His voice didn't sound as happy as Clark thought it would.

"Yes. . .why, what's wrong?"

A moment of silence. "I changed my mind," Bruce finally answered. "I want pepperoni instead."

Clark didn't answer. He stared at the box in his hands, "Je vous remercie!" written across the cardboard.

"Clark?" said Bruce, his voice worried. "Clark, are you upset? I'm sorry."

He sighed. "It's alright, I'll stop at the nearest Imo's for pepperoni."

He could practically hear Bruce's smile. "You're the best. Love you."

"Yeah, yeah," Clark said, but he was smiling too.

• • •

Clark arrived with both pizza boxes stacked into his hands. "Okay, I got the pepperoni, but I got a medium size instead of a large, if that's okay with - "

His eyes trailed over to the bed, where Bruce had fallen asleep, curled up on his side.

" - you. Ah, damn it, Bruce."

He stared at the pizzas in his hands.

"What am I supposed to do with these?"

• • •

When Jason woke up the next morning, the first thing he did was head down to the kitchen. Unfortunately, he was awake earlier than usual, so when he got down to the kitchen, it was empty. Not even Alfred was awake.

 _Well, shit,_ he thought. _I'm starving_.

His attention was suddenly directed to two boxes that sat in the table. One from Imo's, and one plain white box with French plastered on it. He lifted the lids of both boxes. The French pizza had some weird toppings on it. Onions? No thank you.

However, the pepperoni and that gooey cheese on the Imo's pizza looked absolutely delicious. He smirked and closed the box, taking it in his hands and heading to his room.

 _Sweet. Pizza for breakfast_.

* * *

 

"Bruce, it's time we start discussing your birth plans," Leslie said, pulling a notebook out of her black bag. "You'll want to have a plan for when you go into labor. You'll want to be prepared."

Bruce nodded. Clark said, "Can you write us down a copy as well?"

"Will do." Leslie smiled. "So, I suppose the first question is, are you planning on having a home birth or giving birth at the hospital?"

Both he and Clark had given it some thought in the earlier months. Bruce initially wanted a home birth, but Clark managed to convince him to go with the hospital solely because he felt it was more safe in case something went wrong.

"The hospital," Bruce said.

Leslie scribbled down his answer. "Would you want an IV, just in case? It's a question I ask a lot, only because some prefer to be able to walk around when they arrive at the hospital. I'm asking ahead of time if you think that you'll need it."

Bruce gave it some thought. "I don't think I want it."

"That's fine. That just means you'll have to stay as hydrated as possible in the events leading up to the actual birth." She turned to Clark. "As soon as his contractions start, make sure to get some water in him. God knows he'll forget."

"Hey!" Bruce protested and Clark snickered.

Leslie chuckled as she wrote some more. "Okay, if you want, Gotham General has wireless fetal monitoring available, so you can listen to the babies' heartbeats and be able to walk around freely."

A small, distant smile appeared on Bruce's face. "That would be nice."

"Any medication preferences? Oxytocin, an epidural, a spinal block? Or do you want to go medicationless?"

"No medication." After all, Bruce had been shot, stabbed, and had his bones broken on multiple occasions over the years as Batman. He'd managed to emerge with a high pain tolerance each time he recovered. He didn't think he'd need any medication.

Leslie huffed a laugh. "I should have seen that one coming," she murmured to herself. "Okay, to help with the pain, we have what are called 'labor props.' You can squat, you can use a birthing ball, a birthing stool, a shower, a tub. . ." She looked at Bruce pointedly.

"The tub," Bruce said.

"There are also a few options for that as well. You can give birth in the tub, or you can have a jacuzzi tub that helps alleviate the labor pains but still give birth in the delivery room."

"The jacuzzi," Clark blurted, much to the surprise of Leslie and Bruce. Clark looked sheepish. "Uh, sorry." He didn't want to admit that he was afraid that the babies would drown.

"Actually," Bruce said slowly, "the jacuzzi sounds interesting."

Leslie wrote that down as well. 

"Last but not least," she said, "who all do you want in the room with you?"

Bruce and Clark looked at each other, Leslie noticed, with a bit of worry.

"That," Clark said, "will probably be determined when the time comes."

* * *

 

Bruce had gone up to his study to finish some paperwork. Since he'd agreed with Clark to go to Wayne Enterprises Monday through Thursday and work from home Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, he worked on his laptop or signed a few papers.

His employees were only mildly surprised when they found out he was pregnant. They'd either heard from social media or he'd told them after being asked so many times why he was absent three days a week.

His secretary of nine years, Shannon (who had called Dick when he'd fainted in his office), hugged him and congratulated him, beaming and saying, "Well, it's about time!"

Bruce smiled a bit at the memory.

There was a knock at the door of his study. "Come in," he said, not looking up from his papers.

"Hey, Bruce," Clark said, stepping in and closing the door behind him. "How was your day?"

"Boring," Bruce grunted. Clark walked over to his desk and have him a kiss on the cheek. "What about you?"

"Eh, it was okay. Lois has been bugging me about coming to see you for a week and a half. Diana contacted me earlier today and asked if she could beam down here with Shayera."

"Why?"

Clark cracked a sly smile. "They want to see the babies."

"Well they can't exactly _see_ them; they haven't been born," Bruce scoffed. "Or do you mean that they want to visit to fawn over me for two and a half hours?"

"Probably the latter." Clark leaned his hip against the desk. "Can I get you anything?"

"Gummy bears."

Clark blinked. "That was quick. You been craving that all day?"

Bruce looked up for the first time since Clark arrived. "Actually, I've been wanting a lot of sweet things lately. Remember those sugar-covered candy orange slices you used to always eat?"

"Yeah, you hated them so much I stopped eating them around you." Clark smiled fondly, remembering the first time he'd opened a bag near Bruce. Bruce demanded that he throw away the bag because the smell alone was increasing his blood pressure. "Come to think of it, I haven't had a bag in a few months. Why do you bring it up?"

"I'm craving them but at the same time the thought of all that sugar makes me want to vomit."  Bruce put his pencil down and leaned back in his chair, one hand going to his stomach and the other rubbing the side of his face.

"Tired?" Clark asked, though it was more of an observation than anything.

"Exhausted. And I haven't gotten up from this chair in hours." He stretched, his shirt lifting a bit as his back arched. "Mm. My hips and my back hurt." He stared at the unfinished work on his desk and the e-mail he never bothered to keep writing and sighed.

"I'll go get you those gummy bears," Clark said, "hang tight." On that note, he left the room.

It wasn't even thirty seconds after Clark left before there was another knock at the door. Raising an eyebrow, he called, "Come in."

He'd expected it to be Clark, but to his surprise, Damian peeked his head in.

"Damian," Bruce said, his voice neutral as his eyes went back down to his papers. "What can I do for you?"

"I wish to. . .talk to you, Father," Damian declared, his frown deeper than usual. He stepped in and closes the door.

"Well." Bruce was a bit flustered, he literally hadn't talked to his son in a week and a half. "Take a seat."

Damian sat down in one of the chairs in front of the desk, his hands resting on his knees.

"I'd like to apologize for my inappropriate behavior," Damian began, his voice stiff. "It was out of line and disrespectful."

When he stopped, Bruce waited for him to add more. When he didn't, Bruce began, "There's no need, Damian, we were both a little bent out of shape. . ." He set down his pen and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "I should be apologizing as well. For sending you away." His voice was resigned and somewhat regretful. "I should have taken initiative myself. It was irresponsible of me."

"We both had a part to play," Damian said slowly, nodding as if coming to an understanding. "I acted a bit difficult when I first came here. That, I understand."

Bruce's eyes went wide. Damian, admitting something? That was new. Perhaps he'd learned something in the mountains after all. He'd have to thank Master Shao when he got the chance.

"And I was a little cold towards you for a while," Bruce sighed. "That was stupid, I'm sorry."

It was Damian's turn to look shocked. He was silent for a few seconds. He didn't know how to respond to an apology as well as he should have. "Apology. . .accepted," he tried, and it seemed to work because Bruce finally met eyes with him and gave him a tiny smile.

Not only was his father apologizing to him, but he was smiling, too? He must have missed a lot while he was gone.

Bruce's smile disappeared and it was replaced with a wince when he felt two pairs of feet kick him directly in the kidney. He shifted in his seat (as if that would make it better). It was like the twins were trying to tell him something. Either that, or they were fighting, because that _really_ hurt.

Damian gave him an inquisitive glance.

Bruce huffed a laugh. "The babies kicked me." _Future soccer players,_ Bruce thought to himself, remembering what Dick said.

Damian "Hmm'd" in response, his eyes lightened some with a curiosity that Bruce remembered having in himself as a child. "Does it hurt?" he asked.

"When they kick me?"

Damian nodded.

"A little, yeah."

As if to prove a point, one of the babies moved and jabbed him right below the ribcage.

Damian said nothing, instead, he subtly leaned forward as if to get a closer look.

Bruce thought a moment before speaking. "Do you want to feel?"

He got a funny look in return. One that said, "That question was really weird." Bruce nearly laughed at the quizzical look on Damian's face.

Nonetheless, Damian got up from the chair and walked around the desk, but his posture held hesitation.

"Put your hands here." Bruce gestured to the right side of his belly.

Damian placed his hands where instructed, and with confusion noted that his father was giving off more body heat than normal.

 _Pregnancy is weird,_ he concluded to himself.

It was about ten seconds before Damian felt an enthusiastic push against one of his hands. And then another. And another.

Damian yanked his hands away as if they were on fire, his eyes as wide as dinner plates.

"Woah," was all he said.

Bruce chuckled. "What?"

"It's like - it's like there are _aliens_ inside of you." A stunned pause. _"Half_ -aliens!"

Outside of the door, Dick whispered to Clark, "Now if that isn't the cutest thing I've ever seen in my entire life."

"Damian would literally rip your head off if he ever heard you call him 'cute,'" Tim said.

"At least they made up," Jason muttered. "They were even worse than Bruce and I when I first came back."

Dick scoffed. "Don't remind me. That was hell."

"You're telling me. He dragged me into the middle of it," Tim said, frowning.

"Quiet, you three!" Clark shushed them. "You can argue later." He peered through the crack of the door, where Bruce was still smiling at Damian, who was still bewildered by the feeling of the moving beings underneath Bruce's skin.

Dick took out his phone.

"What are you doing?" Tim asked.

"Taking a picture for posterity," Dick said, his voice sweetened by something evil underneath it.

"And also blackmail."

"That too."

* * *

 

"So how's Bruce doing?" Wally asked, taking a swipe of his ice cream as they sat down on the park bench.

"He's doing fine," Dick said slowly, not knowing how to answer. Bruce didn't reveal much to them, so he didn't know. "He complains a lot. I'm not saying it's bad, but it's weird. The most stoic guy on the planet, who's been shot, stabbed, and knocked out with various blunt objects. He never complained about that. But yesterday, he whined for about two hours because his feet hurt." Dick laughed a little. "He asked Clark to carry him up the stairs."

Wally smirked. He hadn't really seen Bruce much during his pregnancy - maybe once or twice - and the thought of Batman complaining about how swollen his feet were was highly amusing.

"What about the little demon kid?"

"He and Bruce made up a few days ago." He shook his head. "Be glad you didn't feel how tense it was. For a whole week, all they did was avoid each other and awkwardly ask us how the other was doing." Dick rolled his eyes at the memory. "And don't even yet me started on how weird Damian acted around Clark."

"How?" Wally finished off his ice cream cone in about thirty more seconds. "Did he try to kill him again?"

"Nope, and thank God for that. His new nickname for Clark is 'the alien.' I don't think Clark cares but I know it bothers Bruce."

"What does he think about them dating?" Wally was eyeing Dick's melting ice cream cone.

"I don't think he's too caught up on that, actually." A contemplative look crossed his face. "I think he cares that his father is dating Superman. Had it been anyone else, I don't think it'd matter. He's still pretty pissed that Clark broke his sword."

"He what?"

"Long story."

Wally didn't question further, just nodded. He scooted closer to Dick and wrapped his arm around his waist.

"Speaking of dating. . ." Wally's thumb stroked Dick's hip. "Have you told him about us yet?"

Dick sighed. "Not yet."

"We've been together for three months, Dick."

"I know, I should've told him earlier. Now he's all. . .moody and hormonal." Dick grimaced. Right before he had left the house that afternoon, Bruce had woken up from his nap pretty cranky and was snapping at everyone.

"Moody?" Wally raised an amused eyebrow.

"If I told him, I don't know how he'd react. He could laugh, he could be pissed. . .he might cry."

"Why would he cry?"

"Exactly."

"Look, babe, if you plan on telling him, I'll go with you." Wally held Dick's free hand, the one that wasn't getting sticky with ice cream and looked into his eyes. "Well, as long as Clark's there, maybe he'll keep Bruce from kicking my ass into next week." He smirked.

Dick laughed. He leaned over to kiss Wally on the cheek. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." He returned the gesture. "And babe?"

"Yes?"

"You've got ice cream all over your jeans."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, first off, that last little scene was supposed to be with Tim and Kon, but then I realized, since Clark and Bruce are dating in this story, that would make things complicated. Y'know. Especially with future events coming up. . .hehe. . .
> 
> And now I realize the severe lack of Tim in this story. Don't worry, I'll find a big scene to put him in. (Sorry, Timmy! D:)


	8. Month Seven

Clark was far from selfish. He was completely aware of the changes on and within Bruce's body. Yes, he understood that Bruce was sore after being out of bed for too long. Yes, he knew that he was seven months pregnant. And yes, it's a hard time for Bruce, and Clark knows that Bruce would love it if he would leave him alone for at least seven and a half seconds without asking if he was okay!

But damn. When was he gonna get some?

Not that Clark was looking, but it was hard to miss. As Bruce gained weight in his midsection, his hips had a slight curve to them. Thus, making his ass--his _assets_ a bit (a lot) larger than than they were seven months ago.

And yes, Clark understood everything down to _why_ Bruce's chest hurt and _why_ he fainted so often nowadays.

But he was a grown man. A grown _Kryptonian_ man. With needs. And a high sex drive.

Clark's nerves had been jumbled up lately. He was irritable and jumpy and he'd accidentally sent Wally speeding away from him when his coffee collided with Clark's chest, spilling hot liquid everywhere. He vaguely remembered glaring at Wally for a solid ten seconds before the speedster sped away, practically stumbling with fear.

But it wasn't like they were _intentionally_ not having sex. Well, Clark wasn't. Bruce was either too tired or too sore. And Clark's devious intentions to try and give Bruce a sensual massage that would eventually end with Bruce on his back and moaning his name, backfired nearly every time. Bruce fell asleep. Instead of groaning, he was snoring.

Typical.

Now, he sat in the cafeteria of the Watchtower, trying not to think too much of the hot dog that was getting cold on his tray. Or his cup of vanilla pudding.

A tray landed on table and Clark jumped about a foot out of his seat.

"Are you okay, Superman?" Diana asked as she sat herself at his table.

"I'm fine," he said with a lopsided smile. "Just a bit on edge, that's all."

Diana eyed him carefully. "Why?"

Clark blushed. "I, uh. . ."

"Have you talked to Bruce lately?" Zatanna commented as she crossed the floor of the cafeteria and joined their table.

Bruce still occasionally came up to the Watchtower, but only once a month, and Clark would bring him via Javelin, because Clark was cautious and had no idea what effects the Zeta rays from the Zeta beam had on unborn infant children.

"Not in a while, no," Diana said.

"I mean, not exactly _talked_ to him, _but noticed how he's been acting?"_ Zatanna raised her eyebrows for emphasis.

"Well, what's going on with him?" Diana asked.

"He's a _lot_ more irritable that usual. He snarled at me earlier. Snarled! And all because I asked him what time it was," Zatanna huffed. "He's acting like he has a stick up his--"

Clark coughed and choked on his juice.

Diana whacked him on the back a few times, frowning. "Are you sure you're okay, Kal?"

"Fine," Clark said hoarsely, his eyes watering, and he valiantly tried not to think about something stuck up Bruce's ass. _Glorious, supple, round ass -_

Speaking of, the double doors to the Watchtower cafeteria flew open, hitting the walls with a slam.

"He awakens!" Zatanna said, with a dramatic twist of her wrist. When Diana gave her a puzzled look, she explained, "He's been locking himself in his quarters, probably sleeping."

Clark stifled a scoff. He could _hear_ what Bruce was doing in his room, and it sure as hell didn't involve getting any sleep.

"But, wouldn't being well-rested result in. . ." Diana trailed off. "Well, general calmness? Happiness?"

"Not for Batman, apparently." Zatanna watched the aforementioned man entered the room, heading straight for Clark's table, his eyes alight with annoyance.

With each heavy step Bruce took towards him, Clark felt his fear skyrocket but his lust shoot up even higher. Bruce looked like he'd just rolled out of bed, his hair hanging in his eyes, wearing Clark's Smallville Amusement Park T-shirt and grey sweatpants that were a bit low on those pale hips of his.

Bruce stalked over to Clark's side of the table and grabbed his arm forcefully, which Clark would have thought was kind of hot, if Zatanna and Diana weren't watching them with both amused and shocked faces.

"Come on,"  Bruce growled, yanking Clark from his chair and pulling Clark out of the cafeteria at such a pace that Clark stumbled after him, Bruce's vicelike grip on his forearm.

Clark was pushed into Bruce's quarters. He was ordered to sit on the bed while Bruce closed and locked the door, then turned around with his arms crossed and his face twisted with annoyance.

Clark just blinked dumbly at him. "What?"

"Why have you been avoiding me?"

Clark blinked again. "I haven't--"

"Every time I come near you, you either have to make an excuse to leave or you're not making eye contact with me." Bruce's tone was a little less heated and a little more hurt. His frown lessened.

"Well, uh. . ."

It's not like Clark can come right out and say something like, "I've spent every waking moment of my day trying not to ravish you every time I get a glimpse of your glorious ass."

Bruce's eyes were watery.

_Oh, boy. . ._

"Am I getting fat?"

Clark's eyes were wide as dinner plates. "Baby, of course not! I just, um. . ."

"You're not attracted to me anymore." Bruce sniffled. He looked sheepish, fingers gripping his own arms, the menacing crossed-arms look falling apart to look more like "I'm shielding my body from you."

Clark sighed. "Bruce. . .come sit next to me."

Bruce obliged, his arms falling to his sides as he sat down on his bed.

Clark pulled Bruce into his lap (as much as Bruce's belly would allow) and wrapped his arms around him, feeling the closest they've been in a while.

"I've been, well, avoiding you, because. . ."

He could he put this without making it. . .awkward?

Bruce looked him deep in his eyes. When Clark swallowed uncertainly and looked away, Bruce sighed heavily and moved to get off of Clark's lap.

His ass brushed against Clark's crotch and Clark twitched.

Bruce froze and gave him an odd look. "Clark? Something wrong?"

Clark's lips were pressed in a thin line. "Mm?"

Trying and failing miserably not to get hard.

Bruce felt an insistent poking at his backside, pretty noticeable through Clark's Superman suit and Bruce's sweatpants.

A look of realization fell over Bruce's face. He easily put two and two together.

"So. . .the whole time. . ."

"Yes," Clark said, his voice strained due to his position.

"Huh" was all Bruce said, and for a minute, Clark thought he would leave.

Instead, Bruce rocked downward and pulled a staggering groan from Clark's mouth.

A smirk of triumph formed on Bruce's face.

"Lay back," he ordered.

Clark did as he was told, laying on his back and letting Bruce pull off his shirt and tug off his pants.

As Bruce undressed himself, Clark commented, "For the World's Greatest Detective. . .it sure took you a long time for you to figure it out."

"You didn't leave me a lot of clues." Bruce's grin was wicked. He shucked off his pants, only wearing his (tight) black boxer briefs.

Clark's hands groped for that ass he'd been yearning to touch for three weeks and Bruce moaned.

"Sensitive," Clark murmured, giving an appreciative squeeze.

"Cocky," Bruce returned.

Bruce let his hands wander, fingers trailing down one of Clark's sides. His fingertips teased at the edge of his boxer's waistband.

Bruce pulled down Clark's boxers and visibly shuddered. "Jesus, it feels like *forever,"* he breathed.

"Yeah?" Clark sent him a smug look. "Can't say the same for me."

Bruce smiled. "Ass."

Clark laughed and ran his hands over Bruce's. "Yes."

He took the opportunity to flip he and Bruce over, Bruce taken by surprise at the sudden burst of speed, legs splayed as Clark held his thighs.

"Do you have any idea how long I've been controlling myself around you?" A nip at Bruce's earlobe. "How much I've _fantasized?"_ A hard bite on his collarbone and a rough stroke through his boxers.

Bruce panted and arched. "I. . .can only imagine." Clark's breath ghosting against his skin made him want to scream, and Clark hadn't even gotten started.

Clark kissed a trail down to Bruce's inner thighs, where he sucked and bit and made Bruce tremble from head to toe, who was trying to keep his voice down but failing.

Clark slipped off his boxers and sent him a smug but entirely too innocent smile, before he shoved Bruce's legs apart and disappeared from view.

* * *

 

Bruce was lounging in the living room, working on his computer and snacking on salt-and-vinegar chips drizzled in chocolate sauce (it sounded good about an hour ago). Dick was sitting upside-down on the loveseat, rereading one if his favorite books ( _Miss Peregrine's Home For Peculiar Children)_ and Damian was laying on his stomach on the floor, sketching something that he wouldn't let Bruce see.

Sighing in frustration, Bruce got up (with difficulty).

"Again?" Dick asked, glancing at Bruce.

"Again," Bruce groaned, and headed from the bathroom. "These kids will be the death of me," he grumbled as he left the room. "This is the third time in the last hour. I might just avoid all fluids entirely."

Dick chuckled, hearing the door to the bathroom down the hallway close. He turned right side up and eyed Damian's sketchbook, which he was hiding with his arms as he drew. "Whatcha drawing, Dami?"

"None of your business," Damian said automatically, like he'd been expecting the question. "You can see it when I'm done."

"You can't at least tell me what you're drawing?"

"No."

"Figures." He looked at his book for a moment before trying again. "Pretty please?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I said so," was his uncharacteristically childish answer.

Dick slid off of the couch and propped himself up next to Damian, making sure that he couldn't see the paper to be fair. *"Pretty* please with sugar on top?"

"Grayson, I will strangle you with your shoestrings."

"I just wanna see."

"You can wait until I'm finished."

"But what if I can't?" Dick all but whined.

"Then too bad."

"Can I just - "

"No."

"But - "

"No."

Now he was invading Damian's personal space, peering over his shoulder while Damian valiantly tried to hide his picture. He smiled deviously.

"Don't make me do it Damian," he said dangerously, positioning his fingers in the perfect places to do what he was about to do.

"Do what?" Damian turned and stared at him.

"This."

"What are y - hee _\- hehehe - "_

Dick burst out laughing. He had Damian _giggling_. Now, if that wasn't the best sound on the planet, he didn't know what was.

"Come on, Dami, let me see - !"

"Grayson, _sto_ \- HEHEHEHE! Fine! I'll show you!"

Grinning in triumph, he released Damian from his hold and let him catch his breath. After a few seconds of panting Damian glared at him and smacked him on the back.

"Ow!"

"Never do that again or I swear you'll lose all of your fingers."

"I can't make any promises."

Damian rolled his eyes and hesitantly removed his arms from around his drawing, his ears burning with embarrassment.

Dick's eyes widened with awe as he took in the picture. "Damian, this is amazing!"

Damian only grunted in response, not looking his way.

"And you didn't trace it or anything?" he teased.

"Tt! Obviously not," Damian retorted.

"I know. I'm only saying that because Jason used to trace all of his pictures." Dick stared at the drawing for a few more moments. "And you're giving it to him. . .?"

"Yes."

Dick nodded. "Why?"

Damian went rigid at the question. He tongued the inside of his cheek for a moment before answering carefully, "To show that I. . . _care."_

Dick smiled. "I'm sure he'll love it."

Damian opened his mouth to respond when Bruce walked back in the room, holding a cup of tea.

"What are you two talking about?" he said as he sat back down on the couch.

Dick sent Damian one last glance before he rolled away from him and picked up the book he'd set on the floor. "Nothing, really. And I thought you said you'd avoid all fluids?"

"I got thirsty." Bruce shrugged and popped a chip into his mouth. "Alfred told me to tell you that lunch'll be ready in a few minutes, so go ahead and head down to the kitchen."

Both of his sons nodded and got up. Bruce noticed how Damian hugged his arms protectively around his sketchbook and he raised his eyebrow at him as they walked out of the room.

* * *

 

Lately, Bruce has been throwing away more and more of his clothing.

His favorite dress shirt? Can't wear it.

Any of his suits? He'd rip the fabric.

That T-shirt with the Batsymbol on it that Dick had gotten him two Christmases ago? Definitely not.

For the past couple of weeks he'd stuck to sweatpants and Clark's T-shirts (they were a size bigger than his but were still a bit of a tight fit), besides when he went to work. Hell, even his shoes were starting to feel small.

And that wasn't even the worst part.

"Bruce, your shirt is wet," Clark said, frowning from the bed.

"What?" Bruce glanced down; there were two large wet spots on his chest. "Oh, fucking god _dammit,"_ he growled, as he gingerly took off the soaking shirt. "I just changed into this!"

"And it was my shirt, too," Clark pouted.

Bruce didn't even dignify that with a response, dropping the shirt in a laundry basket and marching back towards the closet in search of yet another shirt.

"The third fucking one today," he grumbled, aggressively yanking hangers away and trying to find something that would actually fit him. "Can't see my fucking feet, can't fucking pick a pen up off of the ground, can't find a fucking shirt that doesn't make me look like a whale - "

"You don't look like a whale, Bruce."

"Shut up."

He pulled out a black turtleneck. He'd worn it several times, it was his favorite shirt to lounge in. He checked the size tag, knowing damn well what it would say.

It was three sizes too small.

"Son of a _bitch,"_ he hissed throwing it on the ground in rage, although it wasn't as effective as he'd wanted it to be because it was a piece of clothing.

Bruce made several, rage-choked noises in his throat, his fingers twitching.

"Woah, woah, woah, baby," Clark saying, hurrying out of the bed and resting his arms on Bruce's shoulders to steady him. "It's okay. It's not good for you to get worked up."

"But it's just so _fucking -"_ he stopped to make an angry " _Rrrrrrrrggggggghhhh!"_ noise.

"I know, I know. How about we go shopping to find some clothes that'll fit you, okay?" Clark smiled.

Bruce's face shifted from enraged to suspicious. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Clark blinked. "What?"

"To find some clothes that'll _'fit me'?_ Are you saying that I can't fit any of the clothes in this closet?"

 _Damn it._ "What? No, Bruce, of course not."

"So you're saying I'm fat," Bruce continued, completely disregarding Clark's last comment, his eyes narrowing.

"Bruce - "

His eyes were filling with water. "You don't think I'm attractive anymore," he said in a hushed tone, like he was realizing something for the first time.

Despite the amusement he felt welling up, Clark didn't think it would be a good idea to laugh. He instead pecked Bruce on the cheek.

"Baby, please," Clark tried, because any more would just set Bruce off again. His hands slid down to his arms, his thumbs rubbing gently. "I'm sorry, but that's not what I meant. Besides, you'll always be sexy in my eyes."

Bruce sniffed and frowned. "You're just saying that."

"No, I'm not," Clark said firmly. "You're beautiful."

Bruce's frown deepened but he didn't object. Seeing the uncertain look in his eyes, Clark leaned down and kissed him deeply.

When he pulled away, Bruce was no longer pouting, but his mood didn't seem to have lifted any.

Clark smiled and grabbed his hands, leading him towards their bed. "Come on, I'll make it up to you."

• • •

Dick and Tim were watching television in the living room when they both suddenly heard thumping, banging, yelps and giggles from the floor above them.

Tim sighed, shaking his head and rubbing a hand down his face. "They got into another argument, didn't they?"

"Mmhmm," Dick said, already grabbing for the remote and cranking up the volume a few notches.

"And now they're. . .'making up,' aren't they?"

"Yep."

Tim groaned under his breath, trying and failing to wipe the disgusting image from his head. "Like bunnies, those two."

"You said it, little brother."

• • •

Clark nuzzled Bruce's neck affectionately, his hands idly caressing Bruce's sweat-slick bare back. "Apology accepted?"

Bruce cracked open one eye and smirked. "Apology accepted."

* * *

 

Usually the smell of fresh paint didn't bother Bruce. At times it brought back small, vague memories that surfaced and disappeared as quickly as they came.

But now? He almost choked when he walked into the room. He resisted the urge to collapse (though that would have been a bit dramatic) and chose to pinch his nose instead, fighting off sudden lightheadedness. He grabbed ahold of the doorway when the floor tilted.

"Woah, woah, Bruce, are you okay?" Clark said, rushing over to him before he actually fainted.

"I'm fine," he said, his voice nasally. He straightened and glared. "What'd you do, apply one-hundred coats of paint to the walls?"

Clark frowned and glanced around the room, which had two pink walls and two green ones. "No. . .just one coat. How is your nose more sensitive than mine? It's not that bad."

Bruce shrugged. "Must be a pregnancy thing."

Clark sniffed the room a little. "I actually happen to *like* the smell of paint."

Bruce made a face. "So you're one of *those* people, huh?"

"Yep."

"Ugh."

Cautiously, he stepped further into the room, his eyes going to all four walls, even though they were empty and blank. Soon enough they'd have toys, baby clothes, and diapers littering the room. The walls would eventually fill with pictures and scribbled drawings, the white dresser that Clark had yet to put together would have a stuffed teddy bear sitting on top of it. He could see it already and it made his heart flutter. His hand had gone unconsciously to his stomach.

"So," Clark said stepping next to him, almost sheepishly with his hands behind his back, "what do you think so far?"

Bruce was silent a moment. Then he turned, grabbed Clark's shoulders, and kissed him deeply.

"I love it," he said after they broke apart, fighting off tears. _Goddamn hormones!_

He just couldn't believe that it was actually happening. Yet another wake-up call. He was having _children_. He was going to be a _father_.

Well, again.

He could feel the tears, balancing on his eyelids. Finally, he gave up and let them fall, but he buried his face into Clark's shoulder.

He felt Clark's hand on his back, rubbing up and down soothingly. With a chuckle, he whispered, "You're welcome."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I've got some explaining to do.
> 
> I've had this chapter sitting for a while, not knowing what to do with it. . .but I found some inspiration in a new show I'm getting into, and because of that I've got a TON of new ideas. 
> 
> School started up again, so I'm sorry if I disappear for two months again. It's not that I have a lot of schoolwork, my sleeping schedule is what I'm worried about. I get my homework done an hour before I go to sleep and I use that hour to practice on my cello. If I go to sleep late due to writing then I wake up late and it's this whole thing. . .so, yeah. Just bear with me. I promise I'll write when I can (I'm always writing little stories for Bruce and Clark in my head anyway c:). 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed. I just felt the need to explain because I left y'all on hold for so long. :v


	9. Month Seven (Part Two)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The family spends some time together at a carnival in Smallville.

"A carnival?" Bruce raised his eyebrow, looking at Clark incredulously.

"Yep. In Smallville. Ma, Pa and I used to go every summer." Clark was beaming.

Bruce grimaced. "I don't know. . ."

"It'll be fun," Clark said, enthusiastically, _way_ too enthusiastically, even for him. "We can take the kids. Maybe Damian'll like it. Has he ever been to a carnival before?"

Bruce shook his head mutely.

"Well, then it'll be a great experience for him!" Clark's smile was too wide; forced, like someone was holding a gun to his back. Bruce let his eyes narrow with suspicion and he just barely missed Clark's grin faltering for a split second.

Bruce shrugged. "Sure, why not?"

"Okay, should I ask Alfred to get the jet ready?"

"Sure."

Bruce was talking to a gust of wind. Clark used superspeed to get out of the room.

Bruce sighed.

• • •

In the hallway, a good distance from their bedroom, Clark whipped out his phone and dialed his mother.

She picked up on the second ring. "Clark?"

"He said yes, Ma."

There was a pause, then an abrupt intake of breath. "Congratulations, honey! Oh, I'm so proud of you! See, that wasn't so hard, was it?"

Clark huffed a laugh. "He said yes to the _carnival_ , Ma."

"Oh." Her voice had gone flat with instant disappointment.

"Sorry, but not yet. What are you up to?"

"I'm sitting here with your father, who has been asleep since two this morning. He stayed up all night watching _Full House_ reruns. I told him he'd be asleep all day . .here, listen." He could hear movement and then Clark heard the familiar sound of his father's deep snores. A tornado wouldn't wake him.

The snoring faded and Martha's voice was back on the line. "You see? He never listens to me."

Clark laughed. "I called to ask about the carnival. Is it still at the usual time?"

"It's an hour later this year. 2 PM instead of 1 PM. Something about the rides needing more maintenance. So I'll see you in a few hours?"

"Yep."

"I'll get started on a pie."

"Make that a few more. All of the kids are coming, too. Damian is back, as well. Hopefully he isn't _too_ unpleasant by the time we get there." Clark hadn't talked to his mother in quite a while, he realized. The last time they had really had a conversation was when Bruce was three months pregnant.

"Unpleasant?"

"He's. . .he's a lot like his father, I'm afraid." Clark chuckled dryly. Bruce hadn't been too pleasant when they first met, either. "The first thing he did when he saw me was try and kill me."

"Oh my."

"We've straightened it out, don't worry," Clark said quickly. "But his new nickname for me is 'the alien.'"

"That's not very nice."

Clark used to hear that same tone when he was getting scolded. He laughed.

"Ma, he's only ten. I don't mind. It's actually kind of cute. He's been clinging to Bruce for the past month or so."

"Overprotective? He _is_ like his father."

Clark scoffed, but he smiled. "I gotta go, Ma, but I'll see you in a couple of hours."

"I'll see you this afternoon, dear. Goodbye."

"Bye, Ma."

He heard his father in the background. "Martha. Martha! Is that Clark on the phone?"

"Jonathan Kent, you slept through our _entire conversation_ \- " The phone clicked before Clark could hear the rest of her scoldings.

* * *

 

The jet landed with a soft thud on the endless plains of the Kent farm. Bruce stumbled out first, his feet touching the grass, and he bent over and braced his hands on his knees, panting.

Clark was there almost immediately, a hand on his back, trying to soothe him. "Think you'll be okay?"

"Give me a minute." While his morning sickness had all but disappeared, any type of motion involving a vehicle left him feeling like his stomach was in his throat. He focused on the fresh air that he usually only smelled in Smallville.

Out came Damian, who eyed the small Kent house with a mixture of distaste and curiosity. During the ride, as they lifted into the air, Bruce had immediately turned green and Damian, who was in the seat next to his, scowled and said, "Father, you will _not_ vomit on me!"

Next was Tim, then Dick, then Jason, and finally, Alfred. They all, with the exception of Alfred, stared at the grass under their feet like they'd never seen it before.

Clark smiled at them. "Welcome to Smallville!"

"You sound like a tourist guide," Jason grumbled, who had been asleep when Clark gathered the family and told them they were going to Smallville for the weekend.

"The sky is so. . ." Tim blinked up at the blue sky, the fluffy clouds that decorated it. ". . .clear."

"There's too much smog in Gotham," Dick said, a hint of bitterness in his voice. He never did like that Gotham got little to no sun.

When Bruce finally got his nausea under control he too glanced up at the sky. He also couldn't help but notice how _quiet_ it was. Just the sound of the breeze and someone's dog barking a ways down the road.

"Huh," was all he said.

Clark took Bruce's hand and lead them all to the front porch, which creaked under their feet. Clark opened the screen door and knocked.

It opened to reveal Martha Kent, who was about half Clark's size but the glint in her eye made it seem as if she were Superman himself. She yanked Clark in when a pleased noise, saying, "Clark, it's so good to finally see you!" She hugged him so tightly Clark looked like he had to stop breathing.

Bruce smiled warmly at the sight. She reminded him of his own mother.

When she let go of Clark with a parting kiss on the cheek (to which Clark's ears burned red and he complained, "Ma- _a!"_ ) she turned to Bruce and she gasped in surprise.

"Oh, Bruce, just look at you! You're practically glowing!" she cooed, her eyes twinkling. Her hands hovered over his stomach, and she asked, "May I?"

Bruce's face heated up, but he smiled and nodded.

Martha's hands were ginger and warm. "Oh my goodness, you're already so far along! When's your due date?"

"September twenty-first," he said.

Ma made more comments as she fawned over him, her excitement for another pair of grandchildren shining through.

Then she moved onto Damian. "You are just _darling!_ You look _just_ like your father! Such a handsome young man."

Despite his scowl, Damian was blushing furiously. Jason and Tim snickered. Dick fought a smile and instead whispered to him, "At least she didn't pinch your cheeks."

"Richard!" Ma exclaimed, but not because she had heard him. Dick stood straight up. "You're almost as tall as Bruce! How old are you?" She squinted up at him like she was trying to remember.

"Uh, twenty."

"Goodness gracious, son. It's been too long! Last time I saw you. . .well, you were my height!"

Dick laughed sheepishly, his hand going to the back of his neck, a nervous habit.

She didn't spend nearly as much time on Jason, who she hadn't seen since before he died, and Tim, who she never got a chance to meet. Although she did fret over the white stripe in Jason's hair ("That much bleach can do a lot of damage!") and how long Tim's hair was. Bruce just smirked at him. He told Tim to get a haircut long ago.

Jonathan didn't wake up until an hour after everyone had gotten settled in and unpacked, much to Martha's chagrin. And then they were off to the carnival, piled into two cars, Martha and Jonathan's shared van, and Jonathan's work truck. He chose to stay at the house with Alfred.

It was a short drive, about ten minutes, but Bruce still had trouble controlling what he'd eaten that morning. Martha gave him a peppermint in sympathy.

When they arrived, Clark's grin was as large as it had been all day. "This brings back memories," he sighed happily.

Damian glanced around at the flashing lights (that didn't have much effect during the day) and the towering Ferris Wheel. The games and the festive music and the high pitched laughter of other children.

He glanced at Bruce with an odd look as if he'd expected something else. Bruce just shrugged.

"Ooh! Ooh! Can we do that one first?!" Dick said suddenly, pointing excitedly at the second-largest ride there, named "The Batman." It was a long rollercoaster with three loop-de-loops and an upside-down portion. It was black and yellow, and the rollercoaster cart itself donned a Bat symbol.

Bruce glared at him.

Dick started right back. "Please?"

"Fine."

Dick whooped loudly and dragged his brothers along to the line.

"I've never been on a rollercoaster before," Tim said, looking up fearfully at the tall structure.

"Me neither," Damian added.

"You'll love it," Dick said, "I promise."

Jason leaned in to Dick's ear, frowning. "Isn't Tim afraid of heights or something?"

"Or something. He leaps from building to building every night, right? He'll be fine."

The line wasn't long. They clambered onto the ride (which was a bit too rickety for Tim) and strapped in.

Tim eyed the tall hill that awaited them and the drop afterwards.

"Uh, you know what?" Tim said, his voice cracking as he fidgeted with his seatbelt, "I'm think I'm just gonna go ride the tea cups. Yep. So, if I could just - "

"Please remain seated, sir," droned one of the workers. "The ride is about to start."

Damian smiled evilly at Tim. "Ha," he said for good measure.

Tim scowled and slumped back into his seat.

The worker (a teenager who didn't look like he was enjoying his job) monotonously listed the rules of the ride, and then he jammed the button. The cart jerked forward and then they were slowly climbing up.

Dick was grinning wildly, Jason looked bored, Damian was anticipating the drop, and Tim was shaking in his seat.

"Guys," he said.

"What?"

The cart claimed higher. They were almost to the top. Almost two-hundred feet now. Bruce, Clark, and Ma got smaller. Tim gulped, his heart racing. They were way too high. _Way_ too high.

"Guys," he said again, desperate.

"What?" Jason asked over the loudness of rides wheels against the metal track. "You scared, Timmy?" he teased.

"Oh my God," he whispered shakily when they were at the top of the hill. The drop was so _steep_. You couldn't see the bottom of the track, it went down in such a straight line.

He was going to die.

"Get ready to scream," Dick said loudly. "Hands up!"

"Guys!" Tim shouted.

The cart crept forward. Almost there.

"Any last words, Timbo?" Jason sneered.

The ride fell forward at an alarming speed, so fast that Tim didn't anticipate it coming, and his heart nearly shot up his throat and through the top of his skull. As they went down, he screamed, "I HATE YOOOOOOOUUUUUU!"

• • •

"How was it?" Clark asked.

"Can we ride it again?" Damian said with an uncharacteristically childish tone.

"It was alright," Dick said dismissively. "The only fun part was the drop. It's nothing compared to Kingda Ka, though."

"Tim blacked out," Jason said.

Bruce stared at Tim, who was pale and looked like he might faint. "Really?"

"Never again," was all he said, over and over, under his breath. Ma pulled him into her arms and let him lean on her for support.

"Can we ride it again?" Damian repeated. "I want to ride it again." His pupils were dilated from adrenaline.

"I'll go with ya, kid," Jason said, putting his hand on Damian's shoulder and directing them back over to the line. Damian practically ran.

"Can we do something. . .a little less heart attack-inducing next?" Tim asked, the color returning to his face. "Maybe the _teacups?"_

"Why do you love the teacups so much?" Dick asked.

"Because they don't kill people. Rollercoasters do."

"Tim."

"I almost _died_ , Dick."

"We can do the teacups," Bruce said.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Martha said, raising her eyebrows.

Bruce shrugged. "They're just teacups. Not Kingda Ka."

"Which we should ride some time," Dick said, smirking at Tim, who paled.

_"No."_

"Your loss."

They waited for Damian and Jason to finish the ride before they went off for the teacups. Ma, Dick, and Tim got in one and Bruce, Damian, Jason, and Clark got into another.

The ride started slowly, the teacups turning in circles with joyous carnival music playing from the speakers above them. Dick waved from his shared teacup and Clark waved back.

"This is _so_ boring," Jason complained.

"I think it's nice," Tim said loudly from his teacup. "At least I won't die from heart failure."

Dick shouted over to them, "You can use the wheel to make it go faster!"

Damian eyed the wheel in the middle and began to turn it. They went a bit faster. Bruce grabbed Clark's arm as they all slid to the left with the abrupt change in speed.

"I can go faster," Tim yelled to Damian, sticking his tongue out, and proceeded to turn the wheel.

"Oh, dear," Martha said as they sped up, laughing.

"You wish, Drake!" Damian sneered from his seat. He glared at Jason. "Help me."

"You got it." Jason used all of his strength to twist the wheel and they went so fast that the world around them was whizzing by.

"Uh, guys," Clark said as evenly as he could, what with the rapid movement and all.

"We're going faster, Damian!" Tim teased, grinning.

Damian said nothing, just turning so quickly and using such strength that his forehead beaded with sweat. He laughed with triumph when he heard Tim growl at him.

"Jason," Clark tried instead, knowing Damian wouldn't listen to him.

"What?" He looked up. Immediately, he noticed the problem. "Oh, shit. You good, Bruce?"

"Guh," Bruce choked in response, his face rapidly turning green. His hand was over his mouth, the other clenching Clark's arm in a vicelike grip.

Damian didn't seem to be paying attention, focused intently in making the teacup go a hundred miles per hour.

"Damian," Jason began, trying pry his fingers off of the wheel, "you might want to - "

"You gotta do better than that, Demon Spawn!" Tim bellowed in victory, and they could hear he and Dick laughing.

Damian growled lowly. "Don't you _dare_ mock me, Drake!" he hissed.

"'M gonna be sick!" Bruce said urgently, but his voice was muffled by his hand, so it didn't have much effect.

Clark, fortunately, heard him, and said desperately, "Damian, stop! Slow the ride down!"

"Why?" Damian snapped, finally taking his hands off of the wheel and trying to see what all the fuss was about. He saw how green his father was and his anger dissipated immediately.

"Oh."

But it was too late. Bruce puked. All over their pants.

• • •

"Thanks a lot, Damian," Jason seethed as Clark hosed off their pants. One of the people working at the ride took pity on their situation (even went to fetch Bruce a bottle of water) and let them use the water hose. Jason, Damian, and Clark's stood pants-less in the grass, towels wrapped around their midsections for decency.

"Shut up, Todd," was all Damian said, because he knew he couldn't deny it.

"I'll dry it myself," Clark said. "We should have our pants back in no time."

"Poor Bruce," Ma said sympathetically, watching Dick rub Bruce's back as he vomited into a bag. They were both sitting on a lone bench a few feet away. "He looks absolutely miserable."

This time, Jason glared at Tim.

"What'd I do?" Tim asked incredulously.

"You provoked him."

"He shouldn't have listened."

"But you knew he would."

"I - " Tim went to defend himself, and then he shrugged and nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right." He turned and called out, "Sorry, Bruce!"

He got Bruce's loud groan and dry heaving in response.

"He's not going to want to ride anymore rides after this," Clark said sadly. "He might want to go home."

"I wouldn't blame him. Puking my brains out into a paper bag that probably smells like popcorn and butter wouldn't be the best part of my day, either," Jason said, looking at Damian and Tim in what seemed like disappointment. "You two should be ashamed."

Tim and Damian shared bewildered looks that said, "Is this the real Jason Todd?"

"You're starting to sound like Dick," Tim said.

Jason just shook his head. Even though, secretly, he was proud of his brothers for such a thing. But he wouldn't let Bruce _or_ Clark know that. They'd never let him hear the end of it. For now, he'll keep it to himself and congratulate them later.

"Okay. Pants are clean. I'll have them dry in a few minutes. Go comfort Bruce," he ordered. The boys walked towards the bench, Damian and Tim grumbling at each other.

"Well, this changes things," Ma said softly, touching his arm.

"I know," he sighed. He felt the velvet box burning a hole in his pocket. He clenched it tightly, his mind a flurry of panic. "How am I gonna - "

"Let's just wait to see if he gets better," Ma interrupted. "You'll still have a chance. Just wait for it."

Clark nodded, silently cursing Tim and Damian for foiling his plans.

It was about fifteen more minutes before they were up and around the carnival again, after forcing Bruce to drink a ginger ale. Clark punished Tim and Damian by making them get on a kiddy ride together. By that time, Bruce looked less miserable and was even smiling.

After about an hour of playing games and winning prizes (Damian got a giant stuffed cat that he refused to let anyone touch), Clark felt it was time. He suggested that they go to the Ferris wheel. It was now sunset, the sky a wild mess of purples, oranges, pinks and reds, not a cloud in sight. The lights of the Ferris wheel were bright.

"Does this even count as a ride?" Damian said, wrinkling nose as the ride came to a stop and people, little by little, started getting off. He was still clutching his stuffed cat. "It's so slow."

"That's the point, Damian," Dick said. "This is the last ride you get on." He elbowed him. "Wanna share a car?"

"Tt." But he didn't deny the request.

The line moved up and Damian and Dick boarded their car. Clark's heart steadily started beating faster. Next was Jason, Tim, and Ma (who placed a hand on Clark's shoulder briefly and winked).

Finally, he and Bruce's car arrived. Clark gulped as they got on, holding hands.

They rode in a comfortable silence, Bruce leaning against Clark's shoulder with his eyes closed, and Clark knew that he was tired. He placed his lips against his hair and took a shuddering breath.

They came to a sudden stop, high above the ground. Bruce made a noise of surprise, his eyes opening. He lifted his head off of Clark's shoulder and looked out into the sunset.

"It's beautiful," he murmured. His eyes reflected the bright orange of the sun. The wind tousled his hair a bit. He turned to Clark and smiled warmly. "Today was great, Clark. I'm glad you brought us here."

Clark blushed. "Well, it seemed like a good idea," he said sheepishly. "We don't have enough family time together."

Bruce's hand covered his, his eyes shining. "Don't worry, I'm sure there will be plenty more," he said, and moved Clark's hand to his belly. One of the twins kicked his hand. And then the other.

"They're happy," Clark mused.

"They love their father." Bruce kissed his cheek. "And I do too."

Sometimes, Clark wished that Bruce's sappiness would last after the pregnancy was over.

Bruce looked at the sunset again, still holding Clark's hand.

Clark took the little velvet box out of his pocket. His hands were surprisingly steady. He opened it.

"Bruce."

Bruce turned. And then he caught sight of the object in Clark's hand. His eyebrows shot up, his eyes widening with what seemed like fear.

Not good, Clark. Not good. Not good.

 _Focus_.

He cleared his throat, which had suddenly tightened. "I. . .just really wanted to say that I love you and the kids more than you'll ever imagine and I really _really_ want to spend the rest of my life with you and that I will be by your side forever and the fact that we're having our own children together just makes me so happy and I'm so sorry because I'm so nervous but I really do love you and - "

Bruce put a finger to Clark's lips, stopping him. Tears balanced at the corners of his eyes, his smile huge. The sun behind him made him look like a silhouette.

"Yes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started writing the end while listening to "Married Life" from the Up soundtrack. It really is a beautiful song if you haven't heard it yet. Something about it reminded me of Bruce and Clark. >;D


	10. Month Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark and Bruce learn something new and problems arise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quite a lot happens in this chapter. I'm sorry if I smushed it all instead of putting them into separate chapters. :/

 

The ring was a simple silver band with a thick stripe of royal blue wrapped around the middle. It gleamed under light and the blue seemed to shine in the dark. It hugged his finger just right and it made him feel warm every time he looked at it. Clark's was almost identical, except his own was blue with a silver stripe.

When he had shown it to everyone when they were all off of the Ferris Wheel, it was almost comical watching their eyes go wide and most of them looked at Clark. Martha nearly screamed and hugged him tightly, fawning over how beautiful the ring was, Dick squealed (yes, squealed), hugged him and said, "Congratulations!" Tim's eyes went so wide Bruce thought they would dry out. Damian's first reaction was to stare, like he was trying to figure out what it meant. Jason glared at Clark, who shrugged sheepishly and smiled.

Alfred had raised his eyebrows but offered him a warm smile nonetheless.

"Master Clark had come to me for my blessing before you left for the carnival, sir," he had said, "though I had not expected it to be so soon."

He hadn't either, now that he thought about it.

He had talked to Clark a bit about wedding plans. He wanted it to be outside, namely in the Manor's expansive backyard. It was already well-groomed, so they didn't have to worry about that.

Clark suggested that they invite the League, just its senior members (the juniors didn't know of his identity and Bruce preferred they keep it that way.) He'd have Alfred fly over and pick up Martha and Jonathan. Lois would also be attending. Alfred and Clark mostly discussed the rest themselves, saying, "You don't need anymore stress. We'll handle the rest."

Bruce didn't argue. Fatigue overtook him nearly every time he stood.

He slept at least twelve hours a day now, it seemed. Being on his feet only caused him pain in his back and ankles. He needed help getting up. And he wasn't walking anymore. It was more _waddling_ than anything. Waddling! If he didn't "look" pregnant before, he definitely did now.

Earlier that week, as he'd been going down the stairs, holding his back, and Jason said, "Y'know, I wouldn't be surprised if one day you answered the door with curlers in your hair, a fuzzy pink robe, slippers, and a green face mask."

Bruce's eyes narrowed and he threw whatever was in his hands, which happened to be a book. Jason ducked but it hit a vase behind him, knocking it over.

"Master Bruce!" scolded Alfred from where he was walking down the hallway.

He'd just turned and walked back upstairs, upset.

That's probably where it had started, the throwing things. He's thrown books, cups, vases, plates, anything he had in his hand in the moment, all in one week.

Not even Clark was safe from Bruce's wrath.

Today, something dawned on Bruce that made him furious.

"Clark," he called calmly from the bed, closing his laptop.

"Yeah?" Clark answered back from the bathroom, his voice muffled because he was brushing his teeth.

"The wedding is next month, correct?"

"Yeah."

"What's next month, Clark?" Bruce asked innocently.

Clark spat out his toothpaste and thought. "Uh. . .Labor Day?"

"Labor Day."

"Mmhmm." He turned on the sink to rinse.

 _"Labor_ Day," Bruce repeated flatly.

Clark paused. "Wait. . ." His head peeked out of the bathroom. "Wait a minute. . ."

"You _idiot!"_ Bruce screeched, launching his laptop at Clark's face. It didn't hurt him, of course, but it caught him off guard and he went toppling backwards. He fell to the bathroom floor with a loud thud. "You want me to walk down that aisle _nine months pregnant?!"_

"Bruce, I - "

"I'LL LOOK LIKE A _FUCKING WHALE!"_ He threw the lamp. It crashed to the wall loudly.

"I WON'T EVEN BE ABLE TO WEAR MY SUIT!" A poor, unused picture frame met its demise. "I'LL LOOK LIKE I SWALLOWED A WATERMELON!" A vase flew across the room.

It crashed into the area beside the door just as Dick opened it.

"Woah!" he exclaimed, shielding himself from the flying porcelain.

"Bruce, I'm sorry!" Clark apologized from the bathroom floor. "I forgot!"

"YOU _FORGOT?!"_

There went the other lamp.

"Bruce, calm down!" Dick all but launched himself at Bruce and held his arms. "Calm down."

Bruce stopped struggling to glare at him in such a surprised and furious manner that Dick almost peed himself. And that was saying a lot, considering that Bruce wasn't wearing the cowl at the moment.

"Don't you _ever,"_ Bruce growled lowly, "tell me to _calm down."_

Dick gulped.

Clark was just coming out of the bathroom when the onslaught of glassware had stopped, when suddenly _Dick_ was flying towards him.

"Holy - !" Clark began, just as Dick collided with his chest and they both crash-landed on the floor.

Dazed, Clark blinked up at Dick, who blinked back.

"Did he just - "

"He _threw_ me!" Dick said, his voice as outraged as Clark had ever heard it. "That man _threw_ me like I was nothing more than a ragdoll!"

Clark felt his head spinning. He was in deep shit now. His fiancé had just chucked a _twenty-year-old_ at him.

Oh, boy.

•••

Clark found Bruce about ten minutes later, sitting in the living room. He was curled up on the couch, staring at his hands. His eyes were wide.

"Bruce?" asked Clark cautiously, because while he was grateful that Bruce was no longer angry, he didn't expect such a shocked look from him. After all, he was eight months pregnant and had just tossed his son across a room like he was nothing.

"I threw Dick," was all Bruce said.

"Yes," Clark said, becoming more and more confused, "yes you did."

"I threw my son."

"Yes."

_"How?"_

"I don't know."

Bruce looked up at him this time. "Clark, I can barely carry the twins without having to stop and take a break. Dick is over one hundred pounds."

Bruce sounded like he was trying to make a point. "What does that mean?" Clark asked, still not getting it.

"We need to call Leslie."

•••

". . .huh," was all Leslie said after he and Bruce described the situation. Her voice was weird. Like she just discovered something she couldn't believe.

"Does that mean something?" Clark asked for the second time.

Leslie and Bruce shared a look.

"I should probably take a blood sample," Leslie said in that same tone.

"Wait, woah, a _blood sample?"_ Clark's eyebrows raised. "Is it that serious?"

"I'm not for sure yet," Leslie murmured, already unpacking a few of the bags she carries with her whenever she comes to the Manor (knowing it's always an emergency). "But. . .I wouldn't be surprised."

They waited in silence while Leslie unpacked her microscope, plugged it into the wall and set it on the coffee table.

Bruce was eerily quite and unprotesting while Leslie took a drop of blood and got it onto a blood slide. Then she slid it under her microscope and examined it.

"Uh huh," she said distantly. She looked up suddenly, her mouth pressed into a thin line. "Clark, would you mind if I took a blood sample from you?"

Clark was alarmed. His eyes widened. "Uh, sure, but. . .how?"

"Kryptonite needle," Bruce finally said, looking up. His face was thoughtful, worried. "I keep it in the Batcave."

"How did you even - ?"

"S.T.A.R. Labs made me one. And one for the Watchtower." He looked at Leslie. "It's in the lead vault. If you happen to see Alfred, he'll put the code in for you."

Leslie nodded and left.

Clark observed Bruce's face quietly, noting the clench and unclench of his jaw. Despite his stoniness, he looked pale. He was staring at the microscope.

He tried to stand up but his eyes squeezed shut and he fell back into the couch's cushions, groaning a little.

Clark sat down next to him immediately, holding him. "Dizzy?"

"Nauseous." He huffed a dry laugh. "Guess I'm a little nervous."

"Why?" Clark prodded gently, because he knew that Bruce and Leslie knew something.

"Because I know what's on that slide, and I don't know how to feel about it." Bruce sighed and leaned into Clark's shoulder.

Clark didn't like the sound of that. If Bruce was so worried. . .

Leslie returned, holding the thin, fragile, radioactive green needle between gloved fingers. Clark winced; he could feel its effects already, as little as it was.

Leslie took a spare needle out of her bag and replaced the metal one with the green one.

"This'll hurt for a second," she said to Clark. She rolled up his sleeve and maneuvered his arm in the correct position. Bruce laced his fingers with his other hand, and Clark gave a little smile.

"Just don't break my hand," Bruce said, and Clark chuckled.

"I won't," he promised. _I hope_ , he thought.

Leslie was swift with the insertion of the needle. Clark made a muffled sound and squeezed Bruce's hand a little, his eyes shutting instantly, because believe it or not, the sight of a needle going into _his_ skin made him dizzy. The intense twinge of pain that raced up and down his arm and the Kryptonite slowly weakening him only contributed to that.

Since it usually never happened, seeing blood coming from his impenetrable skin made him queasy. He can admit that. But it was funny because, as many times as he'd found Batman broken and battered on the battlefield, you would think that it was a norm for him. He usually instantly jumped into action and tried his best to save him. Blood from other people never bothered him. But himself? He couldn't look at it. It was an unnatural sight. A body that never bleeds, spilling crimson all over the ground.

He suppressed a shiver.

"All done," Leslie said, holding Clark's arm down and sliding the needle from it. It was a good thing she'd held his arm, too, because the sudden disappearance of pain made it jerk in alarm. She stopped a second to watch in awe as the tiny hole in the skin repaired itself before her eyes.

She put the blood onto the blood slide and put it in the microscope. For about two minutes, she switched between Clark's blood and Bruce's.

"Son of a bitch," she muttered, and it was the only time he'd ever heard her curse.

She turned to Bruce and Clark, her eyes both fascinated and perplexed. "Bruce, your blood has been mutating throughout the pregnancy."

Clark's eyebrows shot up, his mind starting to put two and two together. _Wait. . ._

"The cell structure is almost exactly the same as Clark's," she continued. "Since the twins can't access sunlight, they've been using your body to absorb solar rays. But because of that, plus their combined DNA. . ." she seemed almost giddy, "you have access to full Kryptonian powers."

Clark blinked. And blinked. And blinked again.

"I-I'm sorry, could you repeat that?"

"That's probably how you threw Dick across the room," Leslie said. "It will disappear when you give birth, I think. Who knows?" She turned to Clark. "You should probably teach him how to control the powers."

Clark nodded mutely. Bruce still looked pale.

As Leslie began to pack up, she said, "Oh, one more thing. The birth canal that the twins will come out of should open within the next few weeks." She zipped up a bag, still grinning. "It might hurt, but only for a few hours. When it starts to, try to sleep past it. You don't want to be awake, trust me." She shook her head, rembering something.

Bruce nodded. "Okay. Thank you."

She nodded and left, mumbling something about breakthroughs in science.

Bruce leaned back into the couch cushions and sighed, closing his eyes.

Clark cleared his throat. "Well. That was. . ."

"Interesting," Bruce finished, looking conflicted. "I still don't know how to feel about this."

"Well, you always used to tell me that you wanted to know how it felt to have my powers," Clark said thoughtfully. "Maybe this could be a learning experience for you."

"Maybe," Bruce mumbled, then he smiled wearily. "Only you could find the good in something so weird."

Clark pressed a kiss to Bruce's forehead. "That's me, hopelessly optimistic."

-

"Bruce, you're glowing," Dick noted the next morning (he was still a bit peeved at being thrown, but when he learned of Bruce's new abilities he let it go).

"I know, the pregnancy book said I would - where are those _damn_ cookies?" Bruce said, trying to find the package of Chips Ahoy that Alfred had hidden from him. He closed another cabinet and huffed in frustration.

"No, he means you're literally _glowing,"_ Clark said, nonchalantly sipping his coffee.

Bruce turned to frown and him, then looked at his hands.

He really _was_ glowing. Like he was a dim human flashlight.

"What the - "

"That's normal," Clark said. "It just means you're at full power."

"Can he fly?" Dick asked.

"Probably. Though I wouldn't recommend it."

"Fly," Bruce muttered, then he smiled ruefully. He willed himself into the air and floated until his head almost hit the ceiling. Then he opened the highest cabinet and -

"Aha!" he declared, pulling out his Chips Ahoy cookies. "So _this_ is where he hid them! Ha!" He hugged them to his chest and giggled madly.

Dick turned to Clark. "Is this why you're so insanely happy all the time?"

Clark shrugged. "Sunlight is good for the soul," was all he said ominously.

Bruce continued to float around the room, happily eating his cookies.

Just as Jason shuffled in, Bruce floated out the doorway, saying in a singsong tone, "I've got cookies!"

Jason's jaw dropped, his eyes wide. He blinked. "Was he - ?"

Dick nodded. "Yep."

"And was he -?"

"Yep."

Jason stood there for a few more seconds before he turned back around on his heel, muttering, "I need to sober up. . ."

* * *

Clark turned a corner into the hallway to find Bruce trying to pick up a pen. Except, with his belly in the way, he couldn't bend all the way down, so he was trying to crouch instead, his forehead beading with sweat with the strain.

"Let me help," Clark said softly, trying not to laugh at his poor fiancé. He easily plucked the pen off of the floor and placed it in Bruce's hand. Bruce, who was still in a crouch position.

"Thanks. Help me up," he groaned, and held his belly as Clark hefted him to his feet. One hand went to his lower back and he grimaced.

"Sore?"

"Yes," Bruce said and yawned. "I'm so tired. My back hurts. I'm out of cookies." He huffed and gave a halfhearted glare. "I kind of hate you right now."

Clark chuckled. "Want me to carry you to bed?"

Bruce nodded, practically asleep on his feet. Clark gently cradled him in his arms, carrying him bridal style, and floated them both to bed.

• • •

"Mm. . .ngh. . ."

Clark's eyes opened briefly at a sound that disturbed the pleasant silence of their bedroom. When it didn't happen again, he fell back into his slumber.

"Ugh. . ."

There it was again. He was fully awake this time. He opened his eyes to Bruce's back. His body was tense and curled up into a ball.

"Bruce?" he said, his voice still deep with sleep.

"Mm. . .yeah?"

"Are you okay?"

"No. . ."

Clark's hand came up to rub Bruce's back affectionately. "Hey, hey, what's wrong?" he asked worriedly, sitting up when Bruce's breathing escalated.

"Something's wrong," Bruce said, his voice shaky. He was clutching his stomach, sweat making his skin damp. The frightened tone of Bruce's voice made alarm bells go off in Clark's head, his eyes widening.

_No. . ._

Clark pressed a frantic kiss to Bruce's forehead and pulled him close, trying to keep him from hyperventilating. "It's okay, shhh. . .it's okay. . ."

Bruce groaned and curled in on himself more, panting. "It hurts, something's wrong," he said again, fists clenching.

_No, no, no, no. . ._

Clark nodded, shaking. "I'll be right back. I'll be right back, don't move, okay?"

Bruce grunted an "Mmhmm!" and watched as Clark left the bedroom.

Clark hurried down the hallway to Dick's bedroom, opened the door and hurriedly shook him awake.

"Huh," Dick mumbled, eyes cracking open as he lifted himself from his pillow immediately. He rubbed at his eyes and forced himself to be alert. "What's going on? What's wrong?"

"I think Bruce has gone into labor," Clark said, hoping that the darkness of Dick's room hid the fear on his face.

Dick's eyes became suddenly clear. "Labor? This early?"

"I think so, but he's in a lot of pain. I'm taking him to the hospital."

"Shouldn't we - "

"No. You need to stay here and tell your brothers. Keep the peace." Clark gave a tight smile. "We'll be back." With that, he left and returned to Bruce, who was attempting to get out of bed.

"Woah, woah, woah!" Clark began, rushing over to him and gently pushing him back into a sitting position on the bed.

"Gah," Bruce gasped as he wracked with more pain but he managed to growl and smack Clark's hand away with an amazing amount of force. "Don't _touch_ me," he hissed. "I'm trying to get pants."

"I'll get them," Clark said and used superspeed to put Bruce's legs into some sweatpants. He slipped some socks and tennis shoes onto his feet as well. He didn't bother with the oversized T-shirt Bruce had worn to sleep.

Bruce wrapped a hand around Clark's waist and together they all but shuffled to the door.

By that time, the boys were standing in the hallway in their pajamas, looking on worriedly at Bruce, who was hunched over with pain.

"Is he going to be okay?" Dick asked, forehead creased.

"I'll be fine," Bruce said breathlessly before Clark could answer. He was still cradling his belly, his hair hung limp in his eyes. "I'll be fine. It's probably just a false alarm, it's too early."

Tim and Jason's faces were stony, set with could only be described as hope.

"Good luck, old man," Jason said, nodding once.

Bruce huffed a laugh at him before his breath hitched and his eyes squeezed shut. Clark quietly urged him on, and they left.

Damian's lips pressed together. "We can't just let them leave, can we?" he demanded. "We have to go with them!"

"Clark told us to stay here," Dick said gently.

"Who _cares_ what he says?" Damian hissed. "Father _needs_ us - he's in _pain!"_

"He'll be fine once they get to the hospital, Dami," Dick said, kneeling down to look Damian in the eyes.

"What about the children? Will _they_ be fine?" It was more like Damian was asking him for an answer, it was not a demand.

"I don't know," he said honestly. "All we can do is hope."

After a few seconds of silence, Dick pulled Damian into a bear hug, smothering him in his shirt.

Damian went stiff, his hands clenched at his sides.

"They'll be fine. Trust me."

They were tense, waiting for Damian to shove Dick away and stomp back to his room. But he didn't. Instead, he let himself be embraced, not moving a muscle but not protesting either.

None of them spoke.

 


End file.
